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HENRY  MEADE  BLAND 


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PROSE  AND  POETRY 

FOR  CHILDREN 


BY 

HENRY  MEADE  BLAND,  A.  M.,  Ph.  D. 

Teacher  of  English  in  the  State  Normal  School 
at  San  Jose,  California. 


THIRD  EDITION 


Published  by  _ 

The  Pacific  Short  Story  Club 

SAN  JO3L,  CALIFORNIA 


PRESS  OF  EATON  &  Go. 
1912 


Dedicated  to 


whose  morn  was  December  8,  1  832, 
and  whose  eve  was  May  27,   1909. 


Copyright  1908,  1912,  by  Henry  Meadc  Bland. 


FOREWORD 


HE  aim  of  this  work  is  to  place  in  condensed 
form,  at  the  disposal  of  the  school,  suggestions 
for  effectively  teaching  school  literature.  To  that 
end,  selections  have  been  widely  drawn,  and  an 
endeavor  has  been  made  to  show  the  work  in  a 
proper  prospective.  It  is  hoped  that  the  study  of  the 
extracts  will  so  lead  to  the  development  of  the  pupil's 
taste,  that  the  volumes  of  the  school  library  will  more 
and  more  come  to  their  true  function  in  the  progress 

of  education. 

H.  M.  B. 


251015 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  List  of  Reading  on  Holidays j8 

A  Birdie  With  a  Yellow  Bill 59 

All   Things   Bright 60 

Aggressive  Fighting,   Roosevelt    65 

A  Man  May  Be  Young,  Bacon 66 

And  O  the  Voices,  Miller 67 

And  Ever  and  Ever,  Miller 67 

Arab's  Farewell  to  His  Horse,   Norton 76 

Abou    Ben    Adhem,    Hunt 83 

Arrow  and  the   Song,   Longfellow 87 

A  Song  of  the  South,  Miller 93 

A  Man's  a  Man,  Burns 1 10 

A  Countryman   Once 39 

Busy   Lark,    Chaucer 43 

Ballad  of  the   Tempest 68 

Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore,  Wolfe 71 

Burial  of  Moses,  Alexander 90 

Books,    Wodsworth 109 

Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,  Tennyson 78 

Casabianca,    Hemans 80 

Columbus,  Miller 93 

Daisies,    Sherman 22 

Dapple  Gray 23 

Dost  Thou  Love  Life,  Franklin -. 61 

Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  Byron 74 

Daffodils,    Wordsworth 105 

Death  Bed,   Hood    109 

Eve   of  Waterloo,   Byron .82 

Earth's  Living  Word,   Realf '.-,...< Ill 

Fiddler.  From    Dooney,    Yeats    37 

Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall,  Tennyson -. 63 

Forenoon  and  Afternoon  and   Night,   Sill >. 06 

Fate,  Harte    , ; . . ... ......  69 

Fortunate   Isles,   Miller    . .  . .  . 90 

Grammar    Grades 30 

Good  Morning,  Little  Rose  Bush . .  ,• 59 

Gettysburg  Speech,  Lincoln , 107 

Gouty  Merchant  and  the  Stranger,  Byrom. .102 


CONTENTS — (Continued). 

PAGS 

Humor   34 

Humpty  Dumpty   38 

He  Prayeth  Best   60 

Heaven  Is  Not  Reached,  Holland   65 

Inscription  for  a  Fireplace,  Van  Dyke   12 

Intermediate  Grades   28 

In   Blossom   Time,   Coolbrith 48 

If  Wisdoms   Ways    59 

In  the  Heart  of  a  Deed 59 

If  a  Task  Is  Once  Begun 60 

In  Men  Whom  Men,  Miller   62 

I   Like   the   Lad,   Saxe    . ; 65 

I  Would   Not  Enter,  Cowper    66 

In  the  Morning  Sow,  Bible   67 

Is  It  Worth  While,  Miller    106 

Joy  of  the  Hills,  Markham 47 

Jog  On,  Jog  On,  Shakespeare   : 62 

Kittie   and    Mousie    ,  23 

Kind   Hearts    38 

Kindness  60 

Keep  Thinking,  London    61 

Little  Birdie,  Tennyson 24 

Little  Nanny  Etticoat    38 

Little   Brook,   Riley    45 

Let  Me   Be  a   Sunbeam 60 

Let  Those  Now  Love   63 

Look    Not   Mournfully,    Longfellow 63 

Look    How  the   Floor,   Shakespeare 64 

Life  Is  An  Arrow,  Van  Dyke   65 

Little   Drops   of   Water,    Brewer 70 

Lochinvar,    Scott 72 

Landing  of  the   Pilgrims,   Hemans 79 

Lord  Ullin's  Daughter,  Campbell    88 

Method  ;   .  9 

Mottoes    for    the    Blackboard 59 

My  Heart  Leaps  Up 61 

My   Star,   Browning    62 

Man   Is  His  Own   Star,  Fletcher 67 

Mary  Had  a  Little  Lamb    . .  68 

Nature    Poetry 42 

Night  Has  a  Thousand  Eyes,  Bourdillon 64 

Night    Before    Christmas,    More 85 


CONTENTS — (Continued). 

PAGE 

Nineteenth  Psalm   100 

O  Never  Tell,  Field 39 

One  Hundred  Good  Books 55 

O    World,    Browning 63 

O  Could  I  Flow,  Denham 65 

On  First  Looking  in  Chapman's  Homer,  Keats Ill 

On  His  Blindness,  Milton 112 

Philosophy  of  Children's   Literature    16 

Prose,    Comments    on 51 

Politeness 60 

Pied   Piper  of  Hamelin,   Browning 94 

Primrose  of  the  Rock,  Wordsworth 108 

References   to   Morning 43-44 

Rain   In  Summer,  Longfellow    66 

Rhyme  of  the  Rail,  Saxe   99 

Sleep,    Baby,    Sleep    24 

Seven  Times  One,  Ingelow 27 

Suppose,    Cary    36 

September,   "H.    H." 42 

Song  of  the  Brown  Thrush,  Van  Dyke  45 

Song  cf  the  Forest  Ranger,  Bashford 49 

So   Nigh  Is   Grandeur 61 

Stay   Not   Fettered,   Goethe 63 

Some  Hae  Meat  Burns 65 

Sin  Has  Many  Tools,   Holmes 67 

Some   of   the   Treasures 68 

Sculptor  Boy,   Doan    70 

Singing  Lesson,   Ingelow    73 

Sweet  and  Low,   Tennyson -. 75 

Stanzas  from  "The  Fourth  in  Oregon,"  Miller 104 

Song  of  the  Out  O'  Doors,  Bashford 108 

Sonnets Ill 

The    Star 25 

There  Are  Three  Green  Eggs,  Markham  26 

The  Father's  Business,  Markham  30 

Two   Taverns,   Markham    30 

The  Tree-Toad,  Riley  34 

The    Dragon-Fly,    Tennyson    42 

The  Sea,  "Barry  Cornwall"  46 

The  W7orld  Is  So  Full,  Stevenson   60 

Then    Give   To   the   World 61 

These  Are  the  Best  Days,  Seton  61 


CONTENTS — (Continued). 

PAGE 

The  Years  at  the  Spring,  Browning   61 

This  Above  All,  Shakespeare 62 

There   Is   No   Death,   Longfellow    63 

The  Quality  of  Mercy,   Shakespeare    64 

There  Is  No  Death,  Bulwer-Lytton 64 

The    Brook,    Tennyson    84 

The    Departed,    Benjamin 103 

Thirtieth  Sonnet,   Shakespeare    Ill 

Way  Was   Long,   Scott   18 

Winter    Jewels 27 

Who  Says  I  Will  ?  59 

Write   It  On   Your  Heart,  Emerson 61 

We  Are  the   Mariners,   Gary 62 

What  Is  So  Rare  As  a  Day  In  June,  Lowell 66 

Way    For    Billy,    Hogg 75 

Water   Drops 101 

World's  Wanderers,  Shelley   107 

Value    of    Symbolism 39 

Voice  of  the   Dove,   Miller 25 

Voice  of  the  Grass,  Roberts 42 


PROSE  AND  POETRY 
FOR  CHILDREN 


THE  METHOD 

.In  the  teaching  of  Reading  and  Literature  there  are 
.three  clear  aims  to  .be  held  in  mind ;  first,  the  giving  of 
power  to  take  thought  from  the  printed  page;  second^ 
the  teaching  of  facile,  clear  expression,  to  the  end  that 
the  reader  may  make  others  understand  when  he  reads 
aloud;  third,  an  inculcation  of  the  love  of  literature  that 
the  reader  may  get  personal  pleasure  in  the  pursuit  of 
thought. 

The  first  aim  has  to  deal  with  the  technique  of  read- 
ing. Technical  reading  has  to  do  with  the  process  of 
association  of  thought  with  the  written  or  printed  sym+ 
bol.  Every  teacher  knows  that  phonetics  is  the  basis  of 
the  teaching  of  primary  reading ;  and  she  therefore 
chooses  some  well-planned  system  to  work  with,  along 
this  line.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  child's  instinct 
to  imitate,  his  memory  and  his  sense  of  rhythm  are  pow- 
erful factors  in  determining  his  progress  as  a  reader; 
consequently  the  picture-reader  is  also  rich  in  subject 
matter  for  the  little  one.  Such  a  set  of  readers  ought  to 
go  hand  in  hand  with  the  more  technical  phonetic  read- 
ers. In  truth  a  combination  of  the  two  plans  is  condu- 
cive to  the  best  results  in  the  reading  room. 

While  the  child  is  acquiring  the  power  of  taking 
thought  from  the  printed  page,  neither  of  the  other  two 
fundamental  aims  should  be  lost  sight  of.  Good  enun- 
ciation, pronunciation  and  appreciation  must  be  insisted 


10  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

on  while  the  pupil  is  laboring  to  grasp  thought.  Never- 
theless the  demands  of  teaching  are  such  that  a  single 
aim  must  be  selected  to  work  for  at  somewhat  regular 
intervals  (according  to  the  character  of  the  class)  and 
drilled  upon.  It  is  to  be  remembered  continuously  that 
the  greatest  joy  to  come  from  reading  is  appreciation. 

The  regular  school  reader  put  into  the  hands  of  the 
child  for  daily  study  is  the  source  of  power  to  read.  This 
is  the  book  thumbed  and  studied,  carried  home,  read 
aloud,  the  stories  and  sayings  and  poems  of  which  ought 
finally  to  be  treasured  permanently  in  the  pupils'  minds 
as  the  choicest  memories  of  early  school  days. 

Such  a  reader  ought  to  possess  two  qualities.  First 
the  thought  and  words  ought  to  be  such  as  the  pupil  can 
grasp ;  not  so  simple  as  to  fail  to  call  forth  mental  strug- 
gle, not  so  hard  as  to  be  beyond  reach.  Second  the  sub- 
ject matter  must  have  a  permanent  interest  that  it  may 
invite  reading  and  re-reading,  and  should  be  broad  so  as 
to  appeal  to  a  variety  of  interests.  A  right  balance  ought 
to  be  maintained  between  prose  and  poetry. 

Attractive  illustrations  and  clear  printing,  such  as  the 
best  modern  book-making  can  body  forth  into  a  beautiful 
volume,  are  the  marks  of  a  good  reader ;  but  none  of  the 
technical  marks  used  for  phonetic  purposes,  except  in 
lists  for  special  study  in  spelling  and  pronunciation, 
should  be  in  the  practice  readers  to  be  particularly  de- 
scribed later. 

It  follows  from  the  foregoing  that  three  classes  of 
readers  are  to  be  of  service  in  the  school  room ;  first,  the 
regular  text  in  the  pupil's  hand ;  second,  the  practice  or 
sight  reader;  third,  children's  literature  proper.  The 
distinctions  between  these  are  readily  seen,  since  they  lie 
more  in  difficulty  in  text  and  in  different  uses  than  in- 
herent differences  in  subject-matter. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  11 

First,  the  school  reader.  It  appears,  at  first  glance, 
that  since  the  boards  of  control  or  supervision  choose 
the  school  reader  the  teacher  is  not  actually  concerned 
with  its  quality;  but  since  the  board,  after  all  is  said, 
must  rely  on  the  judgment  of  the  instructor  it  follows 
that  the  teacher  should  be  a  careful  and  rational  critic  of 
her  text.  The  first  principle  of  selection  is  negative.  No 
reader  should  be  in  use  for  more  than  a  quadrennium  on 
the  average;  for  as  the  life  of  a  people  varies,  so  its 
thoughts  vary,  and  for  the  sake  of  freshness  changes  are 
necessary.  On  the  other  hand  economical  administration 
of  the  school  demands  that  changes  come  not  too  often. 

The  second  requisite  is  that  the  subject-matter  arouse 
interest.  Its  themes  should  be  such  as  appeal  to  the 
child-mind — bright,  fresh,  uplifting. 

As  to  the  practice  reader,  it  ought  to  possess  the  same 
qualities  as  the  formal  reader ;  but  it  should  be  at  least  a 
year  lower  in  grading  than  the  school  grade  in  which  it 
is  used.  This  reader  is  not  to  be  in  the  hands  of  the  pu- 
pil, but  is  to  be  kept  by  the  teacher,  and  not  handed  out 
till  the  moment  of  reading  begins.  It  is  to  be  taken  up  at 
once  when  the  lesson  ends.  Such  a  lesson  is  pure  read- 
ing at  sight,  and  its  aim  is  to  procure  facility.  The  new 
school  readers  constantly 'appearing  should  be  purchased 
for  this  work  and  they  should  be  owned  by  the  school. 
In  this  work  clear  pronunciation  and  enunciation  should 
be  insisted  upon,  with  a  clear  understanding  of  thought. 

The  work  widens  \yhen  the  aim  is  appreciation.  The 
ingenuity  of  the  teacher  can  be  brought  into  play  to  de- 
vise plans.  The  Library  Hour  described  on  page  54 
is  a  good  scheme.  The  use  of  standard  children's  period- 
icals purchased  with  the  library  fund,  such  as  "The 
Youth's  Companion,"  "St.  Nicholas,"  "The  Boy's 
World"  and  "The  American  Boy,"  adds  interest.  Oc- 


12      PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

casionally  a  strong  story  may  be  clipped  into  small  sec- 
tions and  each  section  handed  to  a  class  member  to  be 
read  in  turn.  At  times  the  teacher  should  read  aloud  a 
whole  story,  at  other  times  she  may  read  a  few  para- 
graphs into  a  story  to  whet  her  class's  appetite,  leaving 
the  pupils  to  finish  as  they  choose.  Much  lies  in  giving 
the  school  an  atmosphere  of  books.  The  great  world- 
books  and  stories  such  as  have  captivated  the  young  for 
ages  must  be  drawn  upon.  The  child  should  emerge 
from  the  public  school  having  been  taught  at  least  one 
great  Bible  story;  one  story  of  Homeric  or  Greek  life— 
not  a  single  myth  which  may  be  said  in  a  dozen  lines, 
but  a  splendid  tale  like  that  of  Troy ;  one  Roman  story ; 
one  Norse ;  one  Teutonic  legend ;  and  one  Arthurian  tale. 

Nothing  develops  a  love  of  poetry  like  a  judicious  use 
of  memory  work.  The  selections  used  should  be  short, 
beautiful  and  emotional.  A  first  requisite  is  that  the 
teacher  herself  appreciate  in  its  fulness  the  selection. 
This  is  demanded  that  she  may  give  the  desired  interpre- 
tation. There  are  two  steps  in  the  method ;  first  an  at- 
tempt to  make  clear  the  meaning  of  the  lines,  second 
such  intensity  of  study  of  the  wording  and  expression 
as  will  fix  the  exact  form  in  the  mind. 

Suppose  the  class  is  an  upper  grade,  and  the  poem  is 
Henry  van  Dyke's  "Inscription  for  a  Fireplace." 

"When  the  logs  are  burning  free, 
Then  the  fire  is  full  of  glee; 
When  the  heart  gives  out  its  best, 
Then  the  talk  is  full  of  zest: 
Light  your  fire  and  never  fear, 
Life  was  made  for  love  and  cheer." 

.  Before  memorizing  this  several  alluring  pictures  of 
old-fashioned  fireplaces  con  Id  be  shown  the  class ;  with 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  13 

perhaps  photo  of  a  big  open  fire.  Selections  describing 
a  happy  family  around  the  blaze,  such  as  are  to  be  found 
in  "Snowbound"  or  the  ''Hanging  of  the  Crane"  could 
be  read  by  the  teacher.  Or  a  selection  from  van  Dyke's 
"The  Open  Fire"  in  the  "Van  Dyke  Book,"  could  be  add- 
ed. When  the  thought  is  fully  grasped,  if  it  is  found  the 
class  or  any  individuals  need  much  drill  to  fix  the  lines, 
the  teacher  should  follow  up  for  a  few  minutes  such  a 
system  of  exercise  as  will  open  every  avenue  to  the  pu- 
pil's brain.  Some  children  are  eye-minded  and  absorb 
better  with  the  eye  on  the  printed  page.  Some  are  ear- 
minded  and  learn  best  by  hearing  a  selection.  Others 
combine  both  powers  and  get  the  thought  better  by  read- 
ing it  aloud  themselves.  Some  minds  are  apparently 
best  approached  through  the  muscular  sense.  Such  re- 
member words  copied  by  their  own  hands  and  spoken  by 
use  of  their  own  vocal  cords.  Might  not  such  be  said 
to  be  muscular-minded  ?  Repetition  in  concert  gives  ap- 
preciation of  rhythm  and  is  a  certain  aid  to  memory.  By 
the  time  a  child  of  apparently  slow  memory  has  per- 
formed all  these  processes,  provided  he  first  understands 
and  appreciates  the  thought,  he  will  almost  certainly 
know  the  selection  word  for  word.  Finally  it  should  be 
said  what  the  teacher  loves  and  appreciates  the  pupil 
will  love  and  appreciate. 

The  process  of  reading  is  mainly  learned  by  modeling 
after  others.  The  child  first  learns  speech  by  imitation. 
So  he  learns  to  read  by  the  same  psychological  process. 
The  teacher  is  his  chief  model.  Through  his  inherent 
powers  or  limitations  he  attains  individuality.  From  the 
earliest  beginning  the  pupil  however  should  be  encour- 
aged to  take  the  initiative — to  attempt  to  read  the  lesson 
in  class  before  he  has  heard  any  one  read.  After  he  has 
made  the  attempt  the  instructor  may  then  correct  in  two 


}4  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

ways :  first  by  reading  the  passage  aloud ;  second  by  giv- 
ing any  formal  instruction  as  to  modulation. 

The  reading  lesson  really  begins  with  the  assignment 
of  the  lesson.  This  should  be  done  with  great  care.  A 
story  involving  the  background  of  the  piece  may  be  told. 
This  is  to  arouse  interest ;  but  it  should  not  forestall  the 
main  point  of  the  lesson.  Thus  a  vivid  word-picture 
might  be  briefly  drawn  after  this  spirit  before  the  chil- 
dren study  Markham's  "Two  Taverns": 

Edwin  Markham  one  time  spent  a  summery  after- 
noon in  the  hills  back  of  the  city  of  Oakland,  California, 
overlooking  San  Francisco  Bay  and  the  Golden  Gate. 
He  was  resting  on  a  bank  of  poppies  intently  watching 
the  shiny  yellow  petals  and  the  insect  visitors  to  the  pol- 
len of  the  flowers.  It  was  a  scene  to  enchant  and  he  re- 
mained till  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  cool  winds 
from  the  bay  told  the  coming  of  eve.  As  the  sun  lowered 
and  the  clouds  reddened  over  Golden  Gate,  the  poet  saw 
a  bee  light  on  one  of  the  big  poppies.  As  sundown  passed 
and  night  came  on  the  bee  still  drank  of  the  flower 
sweets  while  the  petals  gently  closed  around  it.  At  last 
the  insect  was  caught  in  the  petals  and  shut  in.  Mark- 
ham  went  away  leaving  it  in  this  curious  lodging  for  the 
night. 

The  vivid  points  of  the  Columbus  Story  could  suc- 
cinctly be  recalled  before  a  study  of  Miller's  "Colum- 
bus."' 

Very  often  biography  may  be  interestingly  interwoven 
in  these  preliminary  stories.  For  example,  a  very  real 
picture  of  the  poet  William  Wordsworth  is  shown  in  the 
following  which  mav  be  used  to  introduce  a  lesson  on 
"The  Daffodils." 

One  time  this  writer,  as  was  his  custom,  took  a  long 
walk  among  the  hills  about  his  home  in  Westmoreland, 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  15 

England.  About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  he  came  to 
the  top  of  a  hill  overlooking  a  little  valley,  in  the  bottom 
of  which  was  a  small  lake.  A  soft  breeze  was  blowing 
and  the  lake  was  covered  with  rippling  waves  which 
glistened  in  the  warm  sun. 

Along  the  shores  of  the  lake  were  some  tall  trees 
something  like  we  know  as  oaks ;  and  beneath  these  and 
scattered  also  along  the  banks  were  thousands  of  flowers 
and  these  danced  and  waved  in  the  wind.  It  seemed  to 
the  poet  that  these  flowers  were  like  stars.  As  he 
looked  upon  this  beautiful  scene  he  thought  it  one  of  the 
most  striking  his  eye  had  ever  rested  upon.  That  af- 
ternoon as  he  went  home  he  began  the  writing  of  the 
pretty  poem  which  we  know  as  "The  Daffodils/'  begin- 
ning, 

"I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud." 

Reference  later  on  is  made  to  this  interesting  piece. 

A  rule  to  be  followed  giving  out  a  lesson  is  "Be  defi- 
nite." Point  out  specifically  the  six  or  eight  or  more 
words  the  children  are  to  look  up  the  meaning  of.  Some- 
times it  is  best  for  the  teacher  to  become  "dictionary" 
and  explain  the  meanings.  Sometimes  a  word  is  best  ex- 
plained by  comment  on  the  text.  There  are  at  times  fig- 
ures of  speech  which  the  dictionary,  of  course,  will  give 
no  help  on  and  which  the  teacher  must  explain.  Here 
are  some  specific  points  to  keep  in  mind : 

(a)  Review  and  re-review. 

(b)  The  rhythm  of  a  line  of  poetry  is  an  important  clue 
to  the  pronunciation  of  difficult  words. 

(c)  Criticism  should  be  positive,  not  negative,  and  chil- 
dren should  not  be  allowed  to  carpingly  criticise  each 
other,   nor  should  a   child  be  interrupted  by  another 
while  he  is  reading. 


16  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

ON  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CHILDREN'S 
LITERATURE. 

Prehistoric  literature  was  undoubtedly  poetic  in  form. 
Our  vision  of  the  first  literary  artist  is  of  a  man  rather 
old,  who  journeyed  from  patriarchal  family  to  patriar- 
chal family,  or  from  hamlet  to  hamlet,  carrying  to  man 
the  only  formal  message  of  those  times ;  for  in  the  prim- 
itive there  was  but  one  means  of  literary  dissemination — 
by  word  of  mouth.  Just  how  the  old  bard  presented  his 
theme  it  is  difficult  to  picture.  It  is  certain  he  was  an 
adept  at  oral  expression.  The  rhythm  of  his  lines  he 
chanted  and  rechanted  'till  it  became  the  essense  of  song, 
and  the  music  of  his  voice  he  accompanied  with  the  lyre 
or  the  harp  which  he  himself  played.  When  he  sang  he 
took  great  care  in  enunciation;  for  to  make  himself  clear- 
ly understood  was  very  necessary.  Combined  with  all 
these  agencies  of  expression  the  primitive  bard  was  a 
master  of  the  art  of  gesture.  But  gesture,  then,  was  not 
as  we  understand  it  now.  Not  only  movement  of  hand 
and  arm  and  not  only  facial  expression,  but  every  muscle 
of  the  body  was  brought  into  play  and  through  its  move- 
ment, made  to  aid  in  the  expression  of  the  thought. 
Thus  the  bard  used  the  combined  arts  of  music,  the  reci- 
tative, and  expressive  bodily  action. 

To  the  people  of  the  patriarchal  camp  or  the  hamlet 
the  tales  of  the  bard  took  the  place  of  newspaper,  maga- 
zine, drama,  book,  library,  lecture,  reading-club.  His 
advent  was  looked  to  as  the  sole  source  of  news  and  dis- 
cussion. He  was  the  only  professional  purveyor  of  in- 
formation. 

Thus  his  art  became  the  starting  point  of  the  world's 
literary  life.  From  it  was  finally  differentiated  all  the 
various  literary  forms  as  we  now7  know  them.  It  may  be 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN      17 

assumed  that  love,  war  and  the  gods  were  in  the  main  the 
themes  of  the  Bard-stories.  No  doubt  the  bard  learned 
to  adjust  his  song  to  the  love-lorn,  to  the  hunter  or  sol- 
dier, or  to  the  religious  devotee ;  or  perhaps  the  lover  or 
warrior  or  prophet  himself  turned  bard,  and  so  had  his 
own  peculiarly  colored  tale  to  sing  or  tell.  Thus  gradu- 
ally the  bard-story  became  differentiated.  Music  more 
fittingly  adorned  the  expression  of  certain  passions  and 
thus  the  resultant  became  lyrical ;  or  other  stones 
abounded  in  strong  action,  and  the  bard,  with  his  fol- 
lowers, gave  himself  up  to  the  most  violent  rhythmical 
physical  contortions ;  and  so  gesture  became  the  pre- 
vailing element  in -the  expression,  and  thus  the  dramatic- 
story  developed. 

Again  the  pure  recitative  prevailed  to  the  greater  or 
less  exclusion  of  the  music  and  action  elements,  and  the 
tale  became  more  truly  epic. 

Thus  from  the  primitive  bard-matrix  has  been  shaped 
modern  poetry.  At  the  same  time  it  must  be  remem- 
bered, no  piece  of  literature  is  truly  poetic  in  which  any 
of  the  ancient  elements  is  lacking.  Every  true  poem  has 
music ;  it  advances  an  idea,  and  is  dramatic. 

The  more  modern  bard  of  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  tells 
in  the  "Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel"  and  "The  Lady  of  the 
Lake/'  is  a  partial  survival  of  the  ancient  bard.  Allan- 
Bane  is  both  poet  and  prophet ;  but  one  must  believe  that 
the  old  man's  dependence  on  the  Douglass  family  was 
not  at  all  characteristic  of  the  untrammeled  life  of  the 
ancient  musician  who  was  free  from  alliances  with  par- 
ticular towns  or  hamlets  or  families,  and  traveled  to  the 
end  of  his  life  bearing  his  message  of  love  or  war.  Scott, 
however,  rang  down  the  curtain  on  the  life-play  of  the 
last  of  the  bards ;  bidding  him  adieu  in  words  that  are  as 
sure  of  immortality  as  any  Scott  wrote : 


18  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

The  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold, 

The  minstrel  was  infirm  and  old ; 

His  withered  cheek,  and  trusses  gray, 

Seemed  to  have  known  a  better  day ; 

The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 

Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 

The  last  of  all  the  bards  was  he, 

Who  sang  of  border  chivalry ; 

For,  well-a-day !  their  date  was  fled, 

His  tuneful  brethren  all  were  dead ; 

And  he,  neglected  and  oppressed, 

Wished  to  be  with  them,  and  at  rest. 

No  more,  on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 

He  caroled  light  as  lark  at  morn; 

No  longer  courted  and  caressed, 

High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest, 

He  poured,  to  lord  and  lady  gay, 

The  unpremeditated  lay ; 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone,— 

A  stranger  filled  the  Stuart's  throne; 

The  bigots  of  the  iron  time 

Had  called  his  harmless  art  a  crime. 

A  wandering  harper,  scorned  and  poor, 

He  begged  his  bread  from  door  to  door ; 

And  tuned,  to  please  a  peasant's  ear, 

The  harp  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 

There  is  a  striking  analogy  between  the  line  of  de- 
velopment of  the  child,  in  its  attitude  to  literature,  and 
that  of  the  race.  The  race's  first  appreciation  is  of 
rhythm ;  so  is  the  child's.  Jack  London,  the  novelist,  in 
"Before  Adam"  gives  his  idea  of  the  primitive  race's 
first  invention  of  a  piece  as  follows : 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  19 

"We  were  very  angry,  insanely,  vociferously  angry. 
Beating  our  chests,  bristling,  and  gnashing  our  teeth,  we 
gathered  together  in  our  rage.  We  felt  the  prod  of  gre- 
garious instinct,  the  drawing  together  as  though  for 
united  action,  the  impulse  toward  co-operation.  In  dim 
ways  this  need  for  united  action  was  impressed  upon  us. 
But  there  was  no  way  to  achieve  it  because  there  was  no 
way  to  express  it.  We  did  not  turn  to,  all  of  us,  and  de- 
stroy Red-Eye,  because  we  lacked  a  vocabulary.  We 
were  vaguely  thinking  thoughts  for  which  there  were  no 
thought  symbols.  These  thought-symbols  were  yet  to 
be  slowly  and  painfully  invented. 

"One  after  another  of  us  joined  in  the  orgy  of  rage, 
until  even  old  Marrow-Bone  was  mumbling  and  sputter- 
ing with  his  cracked  voice  and  withered  lips.  Some  one 
seized  a  stick  and  began  pounding  a  log.  In  a  moment 
he  had  struck  a  rhythm.  It  had  a  soothing  effect  upon 
us ;  and  before  we  knew  it,  our  rage  forgotten,  we  were 
in  the  full  swing  of  a  hee-hee  council. 

"But  we  Folk  of  the  Younger  World  lacked  speech, 
and  whenever  we  were  so  drawn  together  we  precipitat- 
ed babel,  out  of  which  arose  a  unanimity  of  rhythm  that 
contained  within  itself  the  essentials  of  art  yet  to  come. 
It  was  art  nascent. 

"In  the  intervals  of  pandemonium,  each  chattered,  cut 
up,  hooted,  screeched,  and  danced,  himself  sufficient  unto 
himself,  rilled  with  his  own  ideas  and  volitions  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  all  others,  a  veritable  centre  of  the  universe, 
divorced  for  the  time  being  from  any  unanimity  with  the 
other  universe-centres  leaping  and  yelling  around  him. 

"Then  would  come  the  rhythm — a  clapping  of  hands ; 
the  beating  of  a  stick  upon  a  log;  the  example  of  one 
that  leaped  with  repetitions ;  or  the  chanting  of  one  that 
uttered  explosively  and  regularly,  with  inflection  that 


20  PROSE  AND  POETRY  EOR  CHILDREN 

rose  and  fell,  'A-bang,  a-bang!  A-bang,  a-bang!'  One 
after  another  of  the  self-centred  Folk  would  yield  to  it, 
and  soon  all  would  be  dancing  or  chanting  in  chorus. 
'Ha-ah,  ha-ah,  ha-ah!11  was  one  of  our  favorite  choruses, 
and  another  was,  'Eh-wah,  eh-wah-hah  ?' " 

The  Anglo-Saxon  poem,  "Beowulf,"  with  its  compli- 
cated alliteration,  is  an  illustration  of  how  strongly  pure 
rhythm  appealed  to  the  younger  man.  But  rhythmic 
pieces  hung  only  in  the  borderland  between  the  prehis- 
toric and  civilization  for,  with  the  dawn  of  intelligence, 
the  drift  was  into  myth  and  story  or  literature  in  which 
action  and  imagination  were  recorded.  So  presently,  in 
English  literature,  the  poem  loses,  to  a  certain  extent,  its 
strongly  emphasized  lyric  cast,  and  becomes  the  recita- 
tion of  a  dramatic  story,  such  as  is  seen  in  Chaucer's 
"Canterbury  Tales/' 

Lastly  the  poem  passes  even  out  of  the  story  epoch 
into  the  descriptive  or  narrative,  the  poetry  of  thought 
and  philosophy.  That  this  racial  development  is,  in  a 
general  way,  an  indication  of  the  line  along  which  the 
child  develops  we  shall  now  see. 

All  of  us  know  well  the  child's  instinctive  love  for  the 
"Mother  Goose  Melody."  A  close  study  of  the  little  one 
to  determine  what  there  is  in  the  melody  to  attract  shows 
it  at  once  to  be  rhythm.  What  is  suggested  in  thought  is 
found  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  series  of  striking  pic- 
tures which  are  easily  grasped  by  the  senses ;  while  the 
action  is  fantastic. 

When  the  age  of  appreciation  of  the  jingle  is  well  un- 
der way,  there  is  an  unconscious  trend  into  a  new  field 
in  which  the  pieces  are  a  combination  of  prose  and  poetic. 
"The  House  that  Jack  Built"  is  the  type  of  these.  The 
chief  characteristic  is  repetition.  The  separate  sentences 
are  in  truth  prose  but  in  course  of  repeating  and  re-re- 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN      21 

peating  become  more  or  less  poetic.  Besides  the  placing 
of  rhyme ;  e.  g.,  "the  priest  all  shaven  and  shorn,  that 
married  the  man  all  tattered  and  torn,  that  kissed 
the  maiden  all  forlorn,"  as  well  as  the  alliteration, 
gives  further  rhythmical  effect.  It  is  to  be  noted  that 
the  many  repetitions  of  the  same  words  are  of  distinct 
educational  value  to  the  child  as  distinct  pronunciation  of 
and  familiarity  with  the  words  are  thereby  insured. 

In  "The  Old  Woman  and  Her  Pig"  the  prose  element 
still  more  fully  prevails,  yet  the  recurrence  of  the  jingle 
still  gives  all  the  charm  of  the  mother-goose  melody. 
The  story  beginning  "A  mouse  in  the  oven  was  spinning 
blue  wool"  in  the  " Stepping  Stones"  Readers,  is  another 
example  of  this  class  of  children's  literature.  These 
prose-rhythms  make  an  easy  step  into  the  appreciation  of 
the  prose  of  the  reading-book,  as  they  lie  on  the  border- 
land of  myth  and  story. 

Throughout  the  kindergarten  and  primary  years, 
rhythm  continues  to  be  the  chief  element  in  poetry  at- 
tractive to  the  pupil. 

So  strong  is  the  instinct  for  music  that  the  six-year-old 
may  be  taught  to  memorize  pieces  far  beyond  his  years 
in  thought  and  emotion.  Teachers,  therefore,  often  de- 
ceive themselves  into  thinking  their  classes  fully  appre- 
ciate such  poems  as  "The  Children's  Hour"  (Longfel- 
low), and  "The  Little  Boy  Blue"  (Field),  because  of 
certain  incidental  childish  ideas  in  the  poems;  but  this 
apparent  interest  of  the  children  is  the  inborn  love  of 
childhood  for  exquisite  poetic  music.  The  attempting  of 
work  thus  in  thought  and  action  beyond  the  child's  men- 
tal capacity,  leads  to  arrested  development.  The  teacher 
should  watch  carefully  the  materials  and  should  select 
not  only  the  rhythmical,  but  that  which  combines  the 
rhythmical  with  childish  experience, 


22  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

One  of  the  daintiest  conceptions,  "Daisies,''  by  Frank 
Dempster  Sherman,  is  illustrative: 

At  evening  when  I  go  to  bed 
I  see  the  stars  shine  overhead ; 

They  are  the  little  daisies  white 

That  dot  the  meadow  of  the  night. 

And  often  while  I'm  dreaming  so. 
Across  the  sky  the  moon  will  go ; 

It  is  a  lady,  sweet  and  fair, 

Who  comes  to  gather  daisies  there. 

For,  when  at  morning  I  arise, 
There's  not  a  star  left  in  the  skies; 

She's  picked  them  all,  and  dropped  them  down 

Into  the  meadows  of  the  town. 

Note,  also,  that  the  rhythm  of  the  following  lines  by 
Charles  Warren  Stoddard,  "The  Voice  of  the  Mission 
Bell,"  imitating  the  ringing  of  a  bell,  is  to  the  point : 

And  every  note  of  every  bell 
Sang  Gabriel,  rang  Gabriel, 
In  the  tower  left  the  tale  to  tell 
Of  Gabriel,  the  Archangel. 

Again  the  tender  love  childhood  has  for  animals  is  a 
most  fruitful  suggestion  of  material  for  the  reading  or 
memory  lesson.  Thus  "Kittie  and  Mouse",  "Mary  Had 
a  Little  Lamb",  "The  Owl  and  the  Pussy  Cat"  and  "The 
Tree  Toad",  and  others,  carry  the  child  into  this  real 
realm  of  his  play  life.  The  following  poems  are  much 
beloved  by  the  little  ones: 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  23 

KITTIE  AND  MOUSE. 

Once  there  was  a  little  kittle, 
White  as  the  snow ; 
In  a  barn  she  used  tp  frolic, 
Long  time  ago. 

In  the  barn  a  little  mousie 
Ran  to  and  fro ; 
And  it  saw  the  little  kittie 
Long  time  .ago. 

Four  soft  paws  had  little  kittie, 
Paws  soft  as  snow ; 
And  they  caught  the  little  mousie 
Long  time  ago. 

Nine  pearl  teeth  had  little  kittie  - 
All  in  a  row, 

And  they  caught  the  little  mousie 
Long  time  ago. 

When  the  teeth  bit  the  little  mousie 
Mousie  cried  out,  tkOh" 
But  it  got  away  from  little  kittie 
Long  time  ago. 

DAPPLE  GRAY. 

I  had  a  little  pony ; 

His  name  was  Dapple  Gray. 

I  lent  him  to  a  lady, 

To  ride  a  mile  away. 

She  whipped  him,  she  lashed  him, 
She  rode  him  through  the  mire ; 
I  would  not  lend  my  pony  now 
For  all  the  lady's  hire, 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 


SLEEP,  BABY,  SLEEP. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep, 
Thy  father's  watching  the  sheep, 
Thy  mother's  shaking  the  dreamland  tree 
And  down  drops  a  little  dream  for  thee. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep! 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep ! 
The  big  stars  are  the  sheep ; 
The  little  stars  are  the  lambs,  I  guess, 
The  bright  moon  is  the  shepherdess, 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep ! 

LITTLE  BIRDIE. 

What  does  little  birdie  say, 
In  her  nest  at  peep  of  day  ? 
"Let  me  fly,"  says  little  birdie — 

"Mother,  let  me  fly  away." 
"Birdie,  rest  a  little  longer, 
Till  the  little  wings  are  stronger." 
So  she  rests  a  little  longer, 

Then  she  flies  away. 

What  does  little  baby  say 
In  her  bed  at  peep  of  day? 
Baby  says,  like  little  birdie, 

"Let  me  rise  and  fly  away." 
"Baby,  sleep  a  little  longer, 
Till  the  little  limbs  are  stronger." 
If  she  sleeps  a  little  longer, 

Baby,  too,  shall  fly  away. 

— Alfred  Tennyson. 
(Permission  of  Houghton  Mi  film  &  Co..  Publishers.) 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN      25 
THE  VOICE  OF  THE  DOVE. 

Come,  listen,  O  Love,  to  the  voive  of  the  dove, 
Come,  hearken  and  hear  him  say ; 
There  are  many  To-morrows,  my  Love,  my  Love, 
There  is  only  one  To-day ! 

And  all  day  long  you  can  hear  him  say 
This  clay  in  purple  is  rolled, 
And  the  baby  stars  of  the  milky  way 
They  are  cradled  in  cradles  of  gold. 

Now  what  is  thy  secret,  serene  gray  dove, 
Of  singing  so  sweetly  alway? 
"Many  To-morrows,  my  Love,  my  Love, 
Only  one  To-day,  To-day ! 

— Joaqnin  Miller. 

(Permission  of  the  author,  The  Whitaker  and 
Ray  Co.,  Publishers.) 

Children's  poetry  in  the  kindergarten  and  largely  in 
the  primary  grades  falls  as  regards  subject-matter  under 
two  heads,  the  "wonder-poem"  and  the  "make-believe- 
poem." 

Good  examples  of  these  are  respectively,  "Twinkle, 
Twinkle,  Little  Star,"  and  "Winter  Jewels." 

THE  STAR. 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star ; 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are ! 
Up  above  the  world  so  high, 
Like  a  diamond  in  the  sky ! 


26  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

When  the  glorious  sun  is  set, 
And  the  grass  with  dew  is  wet, 
Then  you  show  your  little  light, 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  all  the  night. 

In  the  dark  blue  sky  you  keep, 
And  often  through  my  curtains  peep ; 
For  you  never  shut  your  eye 
Till  the  sun  is  in  the  sky. 

As  your  bright  and  tiny  spark 
Lights  the  traveler  in  the  dark, 
Though  I  know  not  what  you  are, 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star. 

The  child  wonder-poem  has  arisen  from  a  desire  to 
express  in  music  the  numberless  thrills  the  boy  or  girl 
feels  as  nature  or  life  unfolds  its  newness  to  him.  Thus, 

There  are  three  green  eggs  in  a  small  round  pocket, 
And  the  breeze  will  swing  and  the  gale  will  rock  it, 
Till  three  little  birds  on  the  thin  edge  teeter, 
And  our  G'od  will  be  glad  and  the  world  be  sweeter! 

(By  permission   from  Edwin   Markham.     McClure 
Phillips  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 

is  a  joyous  childish  revel  in  the  window-bird-nest, — an 
illustration  of  ever-recurring  delight  that  even  the  adult 
has  as  he  looks  into  the  home  of , the  bird. 

Thus  it  becomes  the  duty  of  the  teacher  to  be  sensitive 
to  the  touches  of  emotion  that  seize  the  children  as  the 
mysteries  of  art  and  nature  are  unfolded  to  them,  to  the 
end  that  the  poetry  given  may  nurture  and  strengthen 
the  tender  impression  of  the  pupil.  Thus 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  27 

WINTER  JEWELS. 

A  million  little  diamonds 

Sparkled  in  the  trees, 

And  all  the  little  maidens  said, 

"A  jewel  if  you  please;'' 

But  when  they  held  their  hands  outstretched 

To  catch  the  diamonds  gay, 

A  million  little  sunbeams  came 

And  stole  them  all  away, 

is  appropriate  to  the  dewy  spring  morning ;  just  as  Jean 
Ingelow's  "Seven  Times  One"  in  the  "Songs  of  Seven" 
is  expressive  of  the  child-delight  in  outward  things. 

There's  no  dew  left  on  the  daisies  and  clover, 

There's  no  rain  left  in  heaven; 
I've  said  my  "seven  times"  over  and  over; 

Seven  times  one  are  seven. 

I  am  old,  so  old,  I  can  write  a  letter ; 

My  birthday  lessons  are  done ; 
The  lambs  play  always,  they  know  no  better ; 

They  are  only  one  times  one. 

0  moon !  in  the  night  I  have  seen  you  sailing 
And  shining  so  round  and  low; 

You  were  bright!  ah  bright!  but  your  light  is  failing,— 
You  are  nothing  now  but  a  bow. 

You  moon,  have  you  done  something  wrong  in  heaven 
That  God  has  hidden  your  face? 

1  hope  if  you  have  you  will  soon  be  forgiven, 
And  shine  again  in  your  place. 


28  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

O  velvet  bee,  you're  a  dusty  fellow, 
You've  powder'd  your  legs  with  gold ! 

O  brave  marshmary  buds,  rich  and  yellow, 
Give  me  your  money  to  hold ! 

O  Columbine,  open  your  folded  wrapper, 
Where  two  twin  turtle-doves  dwell ! 

0  cuckoopint,  toll  me  the  purple  clapper 
That  hangs  in  your  clear,  green  bell ! 

And  show  me  your  nest  with  the  young  ones  in  it ; 
I  will  not  steal  them  away; 

1  am  old !  you  may  trust  me,  linnet,  linnet, — 
I  am  seven  times  one  to-day. 


FOR  THE  INTERMEDIATE  GRADES. 

The  intermediate  years  of  school  conform  in  a  gen- 
eral way  to  the  period  of  child-life  known  to  physiol- 
ogists as  "childhood  proper."  This  runs  approximately 
(varying  in  different  children)  from  eight  to  eleven  in 
girls,  and  from  eight  to  twelve  in  boys.  As  it  is  an  age 
of  great  physical  activity,  so  it  is  also  an  age  of  great 
mental  activity,  which  manifests  itself  in  exercise  of  the 
imagination.  In  the  earlier  part  of  the  period  the  child 
is  adjusting  himself,  preparatory  to  the  later  rational 
thought  processes,  through  the '  process  of  fantastic  im- 
agination. Hence  the  myth  and  the  story  begin  here  to 
be  attractive.  Later  all  sorts  and  forms  of  adventure, 
and  exciting  contests  are  the  sources  of  his  mental  food. 

It  is  not  strange  then  that  his  taste  for  the  poetic  in 
this  period  is  far  different  from  what  it  was  in  the  pre- 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  29 

vious  period.  If  we  should  characterize  the  literature 
which  the  pupils  best  react  on  at  this  age,  we  should  call 
it  the  heroic,  and  should  perhaps  name  the  good  old 
production  of  Mrs.  Felicia  Hemans,  "Casabianca,"  as 
the  type.  It  may  be  objected  that  the  "Boy  on  the  Burn- 
ing Deck"  stands  for  that  irrational  bravery  which  is 
not  just  the  thing  to  put  before  the  child.  This  point  is 
open  to  argument ;  but  the  spirit  of  obedience  and  re- 
spect pictured  in  the  poem  commends  itself  in  an  age 
when  the  yorfng  appear  too  self-willed. 

The  story  of  "Paul  Revere's  Ride"  also  presents  a 
phase  of  heroism  which  touches  the  boy,  especially  him 
who  has  been  fired  by  reading  the  stirring  times  begin- 
ning the  American  Revolution.  "Barbara  Fritchie"  has; 
too,  the  mark  of  the  heroic  as  has  "The  Charge  of  the 
Light  Brigade,"  though  these  belong  to  the  latter  part 
of  the  period  under  consideration. 

James  T.  Field's  '4The  Tempest,"  for  the  lower  years 
of  intermediate,  and  Browning's  "The  Ride  from  Ghent 
to  Aix,"  for  upper,  are  two  additional  heroics  which 
linger  long  with  the  child  who  reads  them. 

FOR  THE  GRAMMAR  GRADES. 

The  seventh  and  eighth  grades  are  co-ordinate  with 
the  physiological  period  in  the  child's  growth  known  as 
youth.  It  is  in  this  age  that  the  pupil's  emotional  life 
begins  to  expand,  for  this  is  when  he  loses  the  sponta- 
neity of  earlier  years  and  awakes  to  life's  problems.  The 
subject-matter,  therefore,  suited  to  this  age,  is  that  which 
reacts  upon  the  emotional  nature  and  gives  control  to 
the  child.  A  love  of  direct  didactic  statement  of  the  truth 
begins  to  dove-tail  with  the  love  of  the  dramatic  of  ear- 


30  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Her  period.  Description  and  narrative  become  satisfy- 
ing. The  child  loves  epigram  and  proverb,  and  in  short 
any  piece  that  has  a  definite  clear  lesson  to  teach.  An 
example  is  seen  in  Markham's  "The  Father's  Business." 

Who  puts  back  into  place  a  fallen  bar, 
Or  flings  a  rock  out  of  a  traveled  road, 

His  feet  are  moving  toward  the  central  star, 
His  name  is  whispered  in  the  God's  abode. 

(Permission  of  the  author,  McClure,  Phillips  &  Co., 
Publishers.) 

In  the  method  pursued  in  upper  grades,  the  aim 
should  be  to  make  the  pupil  think.  Consequently  the 
piece  must  be  dwelt  upon,  mused  over,  until  its  entire 
setting  is  visualized  and  its  atmosphere  felt. 

Suppose,  for  example,  the  poem  under  consideration 
is  ''Two  Taverns,"  by  Markham: 

I  remember  how  I  lay 

On  a  bank  a  summer  day, 

Peering  into  weed  and  flower; 

Watched  a  poppy  all  one  hour ; 

Watched  it  'till  the  air  grew  chill ; 

In  the  darkness  of  the  hill : 

'Till  I  saw  a  wild  bee  dart 

Out  of  the  cold  to  the  poppy's  heart ; 

Saw  the  petals  gently  spin, 

Shut  the  little  lodger  in. 

Then  I  took  the  quiet  road 

To  my  own  secure  abode. 

All  night  long  his  tavern  hung; 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  31 

Now  it  rested,  now  it  swung ; 
I  asleep  in  steadfast  tower, 
He  asleep  in  stirring  flower ; 
In  our  hearts  the  same  delight 
In  the  hushes  of  the  night; 
Over  us  both  the  same  dear  care 
As  we  slumbered  unaware. 

(Permission  of  the  author,   McClure,   Phillips  an4  Co., 
Publishers.) 

The  first  of  these  stanzas  is  pure  description,  so  the 
attention  of  the  teacher  should  be  given  to  bringing  out 
a  clear  visualization  of  the  scene  depicted. 

One  might  think  that  the  teaching  of  this  poem  to 
children  in  a  country  where  the  poppy  does  not  grow, 
should  not  be  undertaken.  But  it  will  be  remembered 
that  the  incident  of  the  petals  of  a  flower  closing  at  eve 
around  an  insect  could  happen  with  many  another  flow- 
er ;  so  that  a  vivid  paraphrase  by  the  teacher  of  the  stan- 
za, putting  some  flower  that  the  children  know  for  the 
poppy,  will  bring  about  the  desired  understanding. 

The  striking  contrast  subtly  suggested  in  the  second 
stanza  between  the  poet  resting  in  his  "steadfast  tower," 
and  the  bee  asleep  in  a  stirring  flower,  and  the  idea 
growing  out  of  it — the  natural  simple  faith  which 
abounds  in  life — may  be  made  more  vivid  by  comparing 
the  poem  with  "The  Sandpiper"  and  "The  Waterfowl." 

It  should  be  said  once  for  all  that  no  literary  quota- 
tion is  of  much  value  unless  it  is  placed  in  the  mind  with 
the  group  of  ideas  to  which  it  is  naturally  related.  Ideas 
are  arranged  so  that  we  can  remember  them  by  thinking 
them  together,  thus : 


32      PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

"And  are  we  not  God's  children  both 
Thou,  little  sandpiper  and  I  ?" 

and 

"Over  us  both  the  same  dear  care 
As  we  slumbered  unaware," 

and 
"He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone 

Will  guide  my  steps  aright," 

are  different  expressions  of  the  same  idea,  and  all  can 
readily  be  recalled  whenever  the  central  idea,  the  pro- 
tecting All-father,  is  thought  of. 

The  ability  to  thus  think  ideas  together  gives  one's 
thought  a  literary  cast. 

The  "Daffodils"  (Wordsworth)  is  another  piece  con- 
sisting in  the  first  stanzas  mainly  of  description  which 
later  is  idealized  into  what,  to  the  poet,  is  a  tender,  ex- 
quisite memory.  When  sympathetically  interpreted,  it 
strikes  the  older  children  with  great  beauty.  The  ap- 
proach to  the  poem  is  perhaps  best  made  through  a  de- 
scription of  Wordsworth's  attitude  to  nature,  and  his 
habit  of  wandering  by  himself  through  the  hills.  It  was 
on  one  of  these  wanderings  that  he  came  across  the  scene 
the  verse  describes.  The  first  line  it  should  be  noted  is 
auto-biographical : 

"I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud" 
for  the  poem  is  a  faithful  reproduction  of  an  experience. 

It  will  be  noted  an  actual  knowledge  of  the  daffodil  is 
not  really  necessary  to  an  appreciation  of  the  poem.  The 
individual  flower  is  a  small  part  of  the  whole  scene.  The 
poet  has  stood  apart,  has  perhaps  just  arrived  at  the  sum- 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN      33 

mit  of  a  divide,  and  is  looking  down  into  the  valley  at  a 
lake  bordered  with  trees,  under  which  is  a  mass  of  danc- 
ing color.  Whether  this  color  be  from  a  myriad  of  daf- 
fodils or  of  poppies,  or  anemones,  or  buttercups,  the  ef- 
fect is  the  same.  Bayard  Taylor  tells  us  when,  upon  a 
certain  time,  a  regiment  of  soldiers  sang  an  old  love 
song,  that 

"Each  heart  recalled  a  different  name, 
But  all  sang  Annie  Laurie/' 

So  it  is  when  we  read,  while  we  say  "daffodils"  it  is  very 
possible  that  the  mind's  eye  sees  marguerites  or  yellow 
violets,  or  some  other  flower  we  have  seen  growing  en 
masse. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  culminating  effect 
which  makes  poetry  cling  in  the  mind,  is  the  rhythm. 
This  should  be  brought  out  with  all  attention  to  the  re- 
tard and  acceleration,  harmonic  or  melodic  effect,  neces- 
sary to  bring  out  the  thought ;  for  that  reading  of  a  good 
poem  which  best  brings  out  the  rhythm  will  best  reveal 
the  thought.  Notice  especially  the  effect  of  the  retard  in 
the  line : 

"I  gazed  and  gazed,  but  little  thought." 

Notice  also  the  emotion  comes  to  a  climax  in  the  last 
couplet : 

"And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils." 

In  fine,  it  may  be  said,  that  teaching  by  impression 
can  be  used  at  its  best  in  this  presentation  of  poetry  in 
the  grades,  for  in  some  subtle,  not  well  understood  way, 
the  successful  teacher  communicates  her  own  apprecia- 
tion of  the  emotion  to  the  pupil. 


34  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

HUMOR. 

From  the  world  of  make-belief  there  is  an  easy  step 
to  the  humorous.  The  make-believe  becomes  mirth-pro- 
voking as  soon  as  absurdity  of  situation  can  be  realized. 
In  the  little  child  whose  power  to  think  has  not  yet  been 
tried  out  on  the  wings  of  imagination  the  absurdities  do 
not  appear.  Hence  Edward  Lear's  ''The  Owl  and  the 
Pussy  Cat"  may  appear  a  serious  reality  to  such  a  one; 
but  after  a  while  the  fantastic  oddities  appear  and  the 
humor  is  enjoyed. 

It  is  certain  that  the  power  to  appreciate  humor  does 
not  appear  till  the  child  can  reason  well.  Hence  the  full 
beauty  is  not  evident  till  the  little  one  is  well  along  in 
the  grades.  Eugene  Field's  "The  Duel"  appeals  more 
humorously  to  younger  children  than  perhaps  any  other 
poem.  Close  to  this  ranks  Stevenson's  "A  Birdie  With 
a  Yellow  Bill."  Riley's  "The  Tree-Toad"  herewith 
given  in  full,  is  a  type  of  the  piece  in  which  childish 
make-belief  is  tempered  into  delicious  fun. 

"'Scurious-like,"  said  the  tree-toad, 
"I've  twittered  fer  rain  al!  day; 

And  I  got  up  soon, 

And  I  hollered  'till  noon — 
But  the  sun,  hit  blazed  away, 

'Till  I  jest  dumb  down  in  a  crawfish- hole, 

Weary  at  heart,  and  sick  at  soul ! 

"Dozed  away  fer  an  hour, 

And  I  tackled  the  thing  again; 
And  I  sung,  and  sung, 
'Till  I  knowed  my  lung 

Was  jest  about  give  in, 
And  then,  thinks  I,  ef  hit  don't  rain  now 
There're  nothin'  in  singin'  anyhow ! 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  35 

"Once  in  awhile  some 

Would  come  a  drivhr  past 
And  he'd  hear  my  cry, 
And  stop  and  sigh— 

'Till  I  jest  laid  back,  at  last. 
And  hollered  rain  'till  I  thought  my  th'oat 
Would  bust  right  open  at  ever'  note ! 

"But  I  fetched  her!    O  I  fetched  her! 

'Cause  a  little  while  ago, 
As  I  kind  o'  set, 
With  one  eye  shet, 

And  a-singin'  soft  and  low, 
A  voice  drapped  down  on  my  fevered  brain, 
Sayiir, — 'Ef  you'll  jest  hush  I'll  rain!'' 

— James  Whitcomb  Riley. 

(With  the  permission  of  Bowen-Merrill  Co.,  Publishers.) 

The  pun  requires  the  exercise  of  so  fine  a  discrimina- 
tion in  the  use  of  words  that,  except  in  the  higher  grades, 
the  poem  depending  for  its  amusement  upon,  does  not 
appeal.  Many  a  child  who  at  twelve  or  thirteen  has 
tried  to  read  Hood's  "Faithless  Nellie  Gray,"  while  per- 
haps understanding  a  few  of  the  hits,  waits  'till  adult- 
hood before  he  grins  at  the  "Stake  in  His  Inside,"  or 
"Badajo's  Breaches,"  or 

"The  girl  that  loves  a  scarlet  coat 

Should  be  more  uniform." 

Good  humor  always  carries  with  it  an  important  les- 
son in  that  it  makes  us  see  ourselves  as  we  see  others. 
It  therefore  always  is  a  gentle  chiding.  "Suppose"  by 
Phoebe  Gary  well  illustrates  this  influence  of  a  humorous 
production, 


36  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Suppose,  my  little  lady, 

Your  doll  should  break  her  head, 

Could  you  make  it  whole  by  crying 

Till  your  eyes  and  nose  are  red  ? 

And  wouldn't  it  be  pleasanter 

To  treat  it  as  a  joke, 

And  say  you're  glad  "'twas  Dolly's, 

And  not  your  head,  that  broke?" 

Suppose  you're  dressed  for  walking, 
And  the  rain  comes  pouring  down, 
Will  it  clear  off  any  sooner 
Because  you  scold  and  frown? 
And  wouldn't  it  be  nicer 
For  you  to  smile  than  pout, 
And  so  make  sunshine  in  the  house 
When  there  is  none  without? 

Suppose  your  task,  my  little  man, 
Is  very  hard  to  get, 
Will  it  make  it  any  easier 
For  you  to  sit  and  fret? 
And  wouldn't  it  be  wiser 
Than  waiting,  like  a  dunce, 
To  go  to  work  in  earnest, 
And  learn  the  thing  at  once? 

Suppose  that  some  boys  have  a  horse, 
And  some  a  coach  and  pair, 
Will  it  tire  you  less  while  walking 
To  say,  "It  isn't  fair"  ? 
And  wouldn't  it  be  nobler 
To  keep  your  temper  sweet, 
And  in  your  heart  be  thankful 
You  can  walk  upon  your  feet? 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  37 

And  suppose  the  world  don't  please  you, 

Nor  the  way  some  people  do, 

Do  you  think  the  whole  creation 

Will  be  altered  just  for  you? 

And  isn't  it,  my  boy  or  girl, 

The  wisest,  bravest  plan, 

Whatever  comes  or  doesn't  come, 

To  do  the  best  you  can? 

— Phoebe  Cary. 

''The  Fiddler  from  Dooney"  by  William  Butler  Yeats 
is  a  fine  example  of  a  humorous  poem  bearing  a  gentle 
moral : 

When  I  play  on  my  fiddle  in  Dooney, 
Folks  dance  like  a  wave  of  the  sea ; 
My  cousin  is  priest  in  Kilvarnet, 
My  brother  in  Moharabuiee. 

I  passed  my  brother  and  cousin ; 
They  read  in  their  books  of  prayer ; 
I  read  in  my  book  of  songs 
I  bought  at  the  Sligo  fair. 

When  we  come  at  the  end  of  time, 
To  Peter  sitting  in  state, 
He  will  smile  on  the  three  old  spirits, 
But  call  me  first  through  the  gate. 

For  the  good  are  always  the  merry 
'  Save  by  an  evil  chance, 
And  the  merry  love  the  fiddle 
And  the  merry  love  to  dance. 


38  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

And  when  the  folk  there  spy  me, 
They  will  all  come  up  to  me, 
With  "Here  is  the  fiddler  of  Dooney!" 
And  dance  like  a  wave  of  the  sea. 

(By  permission  of  The  Macmillan  Co.,  Publishers.) 

Closely  allied  to  humorous  poetry  and  most  useful  in 
the  school-room  for  touching  the  uninitiated  in  lower 
grades,  and  giving  them  an  initiatory  experience  with 
verse,  is  the  rhythmed  puzzle  or  riddle  illustrated  in  the 
following  stanzas : 

"Humpty  Dumpty  sat  on  the  wall ; 

Humpty  Dumpty  had  a  great  fall ; 

Not  all  the  king's  horses,  nor  all  the  king's  men 

Could  put  Humpty  Dumpty  together  again." 

"Little  Nanny  Etticott, 
In  a  white  petticoat, 
And  a  red  rose; 
The  longer  she  stands, 
The  shorter  she  grows." 

From  the  rhymed  riddle,  the  step  is  easy  to  the  verse 
in  which  the  figure  is  simply  and  plainly  symbolic ;  for 
it  often  requires  the  same  effort  of  mind  to  interpret  the 
quaint  figure  of  speech  as  it  does  the  puzzle,  as  in  the 
following : 

"Kind  hearts  are  the  gardens, 

Kind  thoughts  are  the  roots, 

Kind  words   are  the  blossoms, 

Kind  deeds  are  the  fruits." 

Again  the  verse ,  containing  the  humorous  play  on 
words,  or  other  striking  conceits,  adds  to  the  interest 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  39 

especially  of  older  pupils.  Of  the  following  two,  the 
first  quatrain  is  as  old  as  Greek  literature ;  the  second 
young  as  the  modern  magazine : 

"A  countryman  once  who  was  troubled  with  fleas 
Jumped  out  of  bed  with  a  thundering  breeze, 
And  triumphantly  cried,  as  he  blew  out  the  light ; 
'Now  I've  got  you,  you  rogue,  you  can't  see  where  to 
bite.' ' 

"O  never  tell  your  secrets  to  a  fish 
Whatever  else  you  do; 
For  fishes  carry  tales,  you  know, 
And  they  might  tell  on  you." 

—Field. 

(Permission  of  the  "Sunset  Magazine.") 

These  skits  serve  as  spice  and  react  pleasantly  upon 
the  usually  serious  atmosphere  of  the  schoolroom.  The 
list  may  be  extended  ad  libitum  into  carefully  chosen 
jokes,  conundrums  and  so  forth. 

THE  VALUE  OF  SYMBOLISM. 

In  the  same  way  that  a  word  may  in  the  hand  of  the 
literary  artist  take  on  a  new  and  varied  meaning,  which 
grows  out  of  the  resemblance  of  object  to  object;  so  a. 
well  known  or  commonplace  thought  expressed,  not  as 
a  word,  but  in  full  sentences,  may  be  given  a  new  and 
significant  meaning.  Thus  many  times,  in  teaching, 
Christ  spoke  in  parables. 

The  parable  of  the  sower,  while  setting  forth 
commonplace  facts  about  the  wheat  field,  was  intended 
to  tell  the  disciples  that  their  work  must  some  of  it  fail, 
other  prosper* 


40  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

The  Allegory,  Bunyan's  "Pilgrims'  Progress"  for  ex- 
ample, is  an  extended  symbol,  the  experiences  of  Chris- 
tian standing  in  the  concrete  as  an  embodiment  of  the 
trials  of  a  follower  of  Christ.  True  poetic  symbolism  is 
the  art  of  making  one  idea  or  series  of  ideas  stand  for 
another;  thus  in  "Barnacles": 

"My  soul  is  sailing  through  the  sea, 
But  the  past  is  heavy  and  hindereth  me, 
The  Past  hath  crusted' cumbrous  shells 
That  hold  the  flesh  of  cold  sea-mells 

About  my  soul. 

The  huge  waves  wash,  the  high  waves  roll, 
Each  barnacle  clingeth  and  worketh  dole 

And  hindereth  me  from  sailing! 

Old  Past,  let  go,  and  drop  i'  the  sea 
Till  the  fathomless  waters  cover  thee! 
For  I  am  living  but  thou  art  dead; 
Though  drawest  back,  I  strive  ahead 

The  Day  to  find, 

Thy  shells  unbind!    Night  comes  behind, 
I  needs  must  hurry  with  the  wind 

And  trim  me  best  for  sailing." 

The  barnacles  are  put  to  concretely  embody  the  ab- 
stract past.  (From  Poems  of  Sidney  Lanier;  copyright 
1894,  1891,  by  Mary  D.  Lanier;  published  by  Chas. 
Scribner's  Sons.) 

The  intense  power  of  symbolism  lies  in  its  power  of 
suggestiveness.  The  mind  grasps  the  clue  to  thought 
and  from  the  clue  develops  the  thought  much  more 
quickly  than  from  the  most  direct  presentation  of  the 
idea.  Symbolism  presents  the  glimmer  leaving  the  mind 
to  catch  at  the  suggestion,  e.  g. : 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  41 

"There  was  a  door  to  which  I  found  no  key, 
There  was  a  veil  past  which  I  could  not  see, 
Some  little  thought  awhile  of  me  and  thee 
There  seemed,  and  then  no  more  of  thee  and  me ;" 

— Omar  Khayyam, 
or 

"And  the  brooklet  has  found  the  billow 
Though  they  flowed  so  far  apart, 
And  has  filled  with  its  freshness  and  sweetness 
That  turbulent,  bitter  heart." 

. — Longfelloiv. 

It  is  fundamental  that  the  occult,  the  hidden,  is  a 
strong  lure  to  the  intellect.  It  ensnares  the  imagination 
and  holds  the  fancy.  More  than  that,  it  leads  us  to  take 
our  own  peculiar  personal  attitude  to  those  scenes  and 
emotions  which,  if  baldly  or  openly  portrayed,  would  be 
inartistic.  Thus  the  poet  instead  of  "I  am  sick  today, 
but  tomorrow  I  will  be  well,"  might  say,  "The  tide  is 
out  now,  but  it  will  soon  be  in  again."  So  also  it  is  said 
in  biblical  lore : 

"A   little    leaven    leaveneth   the   whole   lump," 

and 

"For  wide  is  the  gate,  and  broad  is  the  way 
that  leadeth  to  destruction,  and  many  there 
be  which  go  in  thereat:" 

because  "strait  is  the  gate  and  narrow  is  the  way  which 
leadeth  unto  life  and  few  there  be  which  find  it." 

If  the  symbolic  shows  this  strong  appeal  to  the  adult 
imagination,  it  is  doubly  attractive  to  the  child — espe- 
cially at  the  age  when  fancy  is  most  active.  Thus  na- 
ture poetry  in  which  the  forces  of  nature  are  personified, 
or  imagined  to  be  other  than  what  they  are,  has  a  natu- 
ral place  in  the  child's  education. 


42  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

"Winter   Jewels"   already  quoted   is    illustrative 
the  following  "The  Voice  of  the  Grass"  by  Sarah    T 
Roberts  : 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere ; 

By  the  dusty  roadside, 

On  the  sunny  hillside, 

Close  by  the  noisy  brook, 

In  every  shady  nook 

I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere. 


NATURE  POETRY. 

Productions  of  this  class  fall  under  two  heads :  first, 
the  pure  description ;  secondly,  that  which  is  expressive 
of  the  feeling  or  emotion  borne  into  the  mind  by  nature 
as  a  symbol. 

Of  the  first  class,  the  stanza  from  "The  Two  Voices" 
by  Tennyson,  and  the  following  two  stanzas  by  Helen 
Hunt  Jackson,  are  types : 

"Today  1  saw  the  dragon  fly 
Come  from  the  wells  where  he  did  lie. 
An  inner  impulse  rent  the  veil, 
Of  his  old  husk :  from  head  to  tail 
Came  out  clear  plates  of  sapphire  mail. 
He  dried  his  wings:  like  gauze  they  grew; 
Through  crofts  and  pastures  wet  with  dew, 
A  living  flash  of  light  he  flew." 

"The   goldenrod  is  yellow ; 
The  corn  is  turning  brown  ; 
The  trees  in  apple  orchards 
With  fruit  are  bending-  clown. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  43 

The  sedges  flaunt  their  harvest, 
In  every  meadow  nook ; 
And  asters  by  the  brook-side 
Make  asters  in  the  brook." 

Lines  so  purely  descriptive  as  this,  and  yet  so  beauti- 
ful are  rare,  for  the  description  easily  passes  into  the 
use  of  the  natural  to  symbolize  some  mode  or  quality  of 
the  mind.  Thus  "The  splendor  falls  on  castle  wails," 
while  pure  rhythm  and  description  in  the  first  two  stan- 
zas, in  the  third  stanza, 

"O  love,  they  die  in  your  rich  sky 
They  faint  on  hill  and  field  and  river ; 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  grow  forever  and  forever." 

becomes  by  contrast  a  symbol  leading  to  the  expression 
of  an  ideal  human  quality. 

In  their  attempts  to  describe  dawn  and  the  morning, 
the  poets  have  on  the  other  hand,  often  called  in  sym- 
bol. To  Homer  the  dawn  was  so  beautiful  that  he  used 
the  figure  of  woman  to  express  it.  uRosy-fingered 
dawn"  is  the  phrase  chosen. 

Chaucer,  in  describing  the  morning,  speaks  of  the 
lark  as  the  day's  messenger : 

"The  busy  lark,  the  messenger  of  day 
Saluteth  in  her  song  the  morrow  gray; 
And  fiery  Phoebus  riseth  up  so  bright 
That  all  the  orient  laugheth  of  the  light." 

Shakespeare  has  two  couplets  in  which  morn  is  sym- 
bolized ;  in  one  as  a  youth,  in  the  other  as  a  maiden : 


44  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

"Night's  candles  are  burnt  out  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tie-toe  on  the  misty  mountain-top." 

and 

"But  look,  the  morn  in  russet  mantle  clad, 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill." 
Tennyson  has : 

"Morn  in  the  white  wake  of  the  morning  star, 
Came  furrowing  all  the  orient  into  gold." 

Sterling  has: 

"Morn  comes  drifting  on  its  golden  tides." 

When  it  is  undertaken  to  embody  the  emotion  aroused 
by  certain  aspects  of  nature,  the  nature  quality  becomes 
secondary  to  the  human  qualities  the  poet  sees  mirrored 
in  the  phenomena. 

This  results  in  such  poetic  conceptions,  quoted  later 
on,  as  Edwin  Markharrrs  "The  Joy  of  the  Hills,"  Her- 
bert Bashford's  "The  Song  of  the  Forest  Ranger,"  Ina 
Coolbrith's  "In  Blossom  Time,"  Barry  Cornwall's  "The 
Sea,"  and  Robert  Browning's  lines  from  "Saul"  begin- 
ning, "O  our  manhood's  prime  vigor"  and  ending,  "For- 
ever in  Joy."  These  are  the  record  of  man's  joy  in 
nature. 

The  first  mentioned  is  the  type.  It  is  later  given  in 
full.  All  these  poems  when  interpreted  with  the  rhyth- 
mic swing  belonging  to  them  will  strongly  appeal  to  the 
older  children. 

In  a  group  by  themselves  are  those  verses  which  are 
supposedly  attempts  to  reproduce  the  notes  of  certain 
birds.  The  "Song  of  the  Brown  Thrush"  by  Henry  van 
Dyke,  and  "The  Voice  of  the  Dove"  by  Joaquin  Miller 
are  really  reflections  of  bits  of  Philosophy  which  the 
author  chooses  to  realize  in  the  bird  song,  thus : 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  45 

THE  SDNG  OF  THE  BKOWN  THBUSH. 

Luck,   luck, 

What  luck? 

Good  enough  for  me ! 

I'm  alive,  you  see. 

Sun  shining, 

No  repining; 

Never  borrow 

Idle  sorrow ; 

Drop  it ! 

Cover  it  up ! 

Hold  your  cup ! 

Joy  will  fill  it, 

Don't  spill  it, 

Steady,  be  ready, 

Good  luck! 

— Henry  van  Dyke. 
(By   permission  of  the   author,   Chas.    Scribners'    Sons, 

Publishers.) 

So  also  in  "The  Voice  of  the  Dove''  already  quoted. 
It  should  be  remarked  that  only  lines  of  the  type  of 
''Today  I  saw  the  dragonfly"  are  usually  strictly  inter- 
preted as  nature  poetry.  It  is  noticed  that  poems  like 
the  last  two  quoted,  when  literally  construed  ascribe  to 
the  birds  powers  of  feeling  and  reason  they  do  not  pos- 
ses. This  quality  of  literature,  however,  is  valuable  as 
beautifully  calling  attention  to  the  particular  nature-ob- 
ject. 

James  Whitcomb  Ritey's  lines  beginning: 
"Little  brook    Little  brook! 
You  have  such  a  happy  look ; 
Such  a  very  merry  manner 
As  you  swerve  curve  and  crook!" 


46  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

further  illustrate  the  beauty  of  this  kind  of  nature  pro- 
duction. The  following  poems  are  striking  as  they  com- 
bine with  wonderful  pictures  of  nature,  wilclness  and 
swing  of  melody  unrivaled. 

THE  SEA. 

The  Sea !  the  Sea !  the  open  Sea ! 

The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever-free! 

Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound. 

It  runneth  the  earth's  wide  regions  round ; 

It  plays  with  the  clouds,  it  mocks  the  skies ; 

Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies. 

I'm  on  the  sea!     I'm  on  the  sea! 

I  am  where  1  would  ever  be ; 

With  the  blue  above,  and  the  blue  below, 

And  Silence  wheresoe'er  I  go ; 

If  a  storm  should  come  and  awake  the  deep, 

What  matter?    I  shall  ride  and  sleep. 

I  love   (oh!  how  I  love)  to  ride 
On  the  fierce  foaming  bursting  tide, 
When  every  mad  wave  drowns  the  moon, 
Or  whistles  aloft  his  tempest  tune, 
And  tells  how  goeth  the  world  below. 
And  why  the  southwest  blasts  do  blow. 

I  never  was  on  the  dull  tame  shore 
But  I  loved  the  great  sea  more  and  more ; 
And  backwards  flew  to  her  billowy  breast, 
Like  a  bird  that  seeketh  it's  mother's  nest: 
And  a  mother  she  was  and  is  to  me, 
For  I  was  born  on  the  open  Sea ! 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  47 

The  waves  were  white,  and  red  the  morn, 
In  the  noisy  hour  when  I  was  born; 
Arid  the  whale  it  whistled,  the  porpoise  rolled. 
And  the  dolphins  bared  their  back  of  gold ; 
And  never  was  heard  such  an  outcry  wild 
As  welcomed  to  life  the  Ocean-child ! 

I  have  lived  since  then,  in  calm  and  strife, 

Full  fifty  summers  a  sailor's  life, 

With  wealth  to  spend  and  a  power  to  range, 

But  never  have  sought,  nor  sighed  for  change ; 

And  death,  whenever  he  come  to  me 

Shall  come  on  the  wide  unbounded  Sea ! 

THE  JOY  OF  THE  HILLS. 

I  ride  on  the  mountain  tops,  I  ride ; 
I  have  found  my  life  and  am  satisfied. 
Onward  I  ride  in  the  blowing  oats, 
Checking  the  field-lark's  rippling  notes — 

Lightly  I  sweep 

From  steep  to  steep : 

Over  my  head  through  the  branches  high 
Come  glimpses  of  a  rushing  sky ; 
The  tall  oats  brush  my  horse's  flanks ; 
Wild  poppies  crowd  on  the  sunny  banks ; 
A  bee  booms  out  of  the  scented  grass ; 
A  jay  laughs  with  me  as  I  pass. 

I  ride  on  the  hills,  I  forgive,  I  forget, 
Life's  hoard  of  regret — 
All  the  terror  and  pain 
Of  the  chafing  chain. 
Grind  on,  O  cities,  grind: 
I  leave  you  a  blur  behind. 


48      PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

I  am  lifted  elate — the  skies  expand : 

Here  the  world's  heaped  gold  is  a  pile  of  sand. 

Let  them  weary  and  work  in  their  narrow  walls : 

I  ride  with  the  voices  of  waterfalls ! 

I  swing  on  as  one  in  a  dream — I  swing 

Down  the  airy  hollows,  I  shout,  I  sing! 

The  world  is  gone  like  an  empty  word : 

My  body's  a  bough  in  the  wind,  my  heart  a  bird  ! 

— E du'in  M a rkham. 

(By  permission  of  the  author,  McClnre  Phillips  £  Co.. 
Publishers.) 

IN  BLOSSOM  TIME. 

It's  O  my  heart,  my  heart. 

To  be  out  in  the  sun  and  sing — 
To  sing  and  shout  in  the  fields  about, 

In  the  balm  and  the  blossoming! 

Sing  loud,  O  bird  in  the  tree ; 

O  bird,  sing  aloud  in  the  sky, 
And  honey-bees,  blacken  the  clover  seas — 

There  is  none  of  you  glad  as  I. 

The  leaves  laugh  low  in  the  wind, 

Laugh  low,  with  the  wind  at  play ; 

And  the  odorous  call  of  the  flowers  all 
Entices  my  soul  away!   • 

For  O  but  the  world  is  fair,  is  fair — 

And  O  but  the  world  is  sweet ! 
I  will  out  in  the  gold  of  the  blossoming  mould, 

And  sit  at  the  Master's   feet. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  49 

And  the  love  my  heart  would  speak, 

I  will  fold  in  the  lily's  rim, 
That  the  lips  of  the  blossom,  more  pure  and  meek, 

May  offer  it  up  to  Him. 

Then  sing  in  the  hedgerow  green,  O  thrush, 

O  skylark,  sing  in  the  blue ; 
Sing  loud,  sing  clear,  that  the  king  may  hear, 

And  my  soul  shall  sing  with  you ! 

— Ina  Coolbrith. 

(Permission  of  the   author,   Houghton,   Mifflin   &   Co., 
Publishers.) 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  FOREST  RANGER. 

Oh,  to  feel  the  fresh  breeze  blowing 

From  lone  ridges  yet  untrod ! 
Oh,  to  see  the  far  peak  growing 

Whiter  as  it  climbs  to  God! 

Where  the  silver  streamlet  rushes 

I  would  follow — follow  on 
Till  I  heard  the  happy  thrushes 

Piping  lyrics  to  the  dawn. 

I  would  hear  the  wild  rejoicing 

Of  the  wind-blown  cedar  tree, 
Hear  the  sturdy  hemlock  voicing 

Ancient  epics  of  the  sea. 

Forest  aisles  would  I  be  winding, 

Out  beyond  the  gates  of  Care; 
And,  in  dim  cathedrals,  finding 

Silence  at  the  shrine  of  Prayer. 


50  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

When  the  mystic  night  comes  stealing- 
Through  my  vast,  green  room  afar, 

Never  king  had  richer  ceiling — 
Bended  bough  and  yellow  star! 

Ah,  to  list  the  sacred  preaching 
.      Of  the  forest's  faithful  fir, 
With  his  strong  arms  upward  reaching— 
Mighty,  trustful  worshipper! 

Come  and  learn  the  joy  of  living! 

Come  and  you  will  understand 
How  the  sun  his  gold  is  giving 

With  a  great,  impartial  hand ! 

How  the  patient  pine  is  climbing, 

Year  by  year  to  gain  the  sky ; 
How  the  rill  makes  sweetest  rhyming, 

Where  the  deepest  shadows  lie. 

I  am  nearer  the  great  Giver, 
Where  His  handiwork  is  crude ; 

Friend  am  I  of  peak  and  river, 
Comrade  of  Old  Solitude. 

Not  for  me  the  city's  riot ! 

Not  for  me  the  towers  of  Trade ! 
I  would  seek  the  house, of  Quiet, 

That  the  Master  Workman  made ! 

— Herbert  Bashford. 

(Permission  of  the  author,  The  Whitaker  &  Ray  Co., 
Publishers.) 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  51 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  many  times  poetry  has 
an  interesting  relation  to  geography.  Thus  Lanier's 
"Song  of  the  Chattahoochie,"  Joaquin  Miller's  introduc- 
tory stanzas  to  "A  Song  of  the  South"  (quoted  later  in 
44 Some  of  the  Treasures")  may  be  read  and  interpreted 
in  connection  with  a  study  of  rivers.  So  also  poetry  ad- 
dressed to  the  sea ;  e.  g.,  Byron's  "Apostrophe  to  the 
Ocean,"  or  Barry  Cornwall's  "The  Sea,"  may  be  used 
to  instill  emotions  growing  out  of  the  study  of  various 
aspects  of  the  sea.  But  such  poems  should  be  done  af- 
ter the  child  has  something  of  a  perspective  of  the  sub- 
ject matter  he  has  mastered ;  in  other  words,  after  an  im- 
pression of  the  river  studied  has  become  a  memory. 
This  means  that  the  teacher  has  been  able  to  give  the 
children  a  touch  of  real  knowledge  on  the  subject  to 
which  the  poem  applies. 

PROSE. 

All  prose  reading,  except  that  for  pleasure  and  in- 
spiration, is  excluded  from  consideration  on  these  pages 
inasmuch  as  we  are  concerned  only  with  those  lines 
which  children  either  are  drawn  to,  naturally,  or  can  be 
trained  to  love ;  and  which  form  ideals  and  react  on  the 
character.  The  choice  of  reading  for  children  consists 
in  drawing  from  the  mass  of  books  called  literature  those 
which  are  strong  and  healthful  with  a  view  to  reacting  on 
the  child's  mind  in  a  rational  way. 

Thus  what  shall  be  given  to  the  boy  to  read  who  is 
fond  of  personal  adventure?  What  should  a  girl  have 
who  is  just  budding  into  womanhood?  What  shall  the 
child  be  given  access  to  who  naturally  revels  in  myth 
and  fairy-lore?  How  shall  we  appeal  rationally  to  the 
bov  enamored  of  detective  stories?  These  with  a  mm- 


52  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

dred  other  questions  confront  us  in  the  selection  of  chil- 
dren's books. 

Before,  however,  we  approach  such  questions  specif- 
ically, there  are  certain  broader  and  fundamental  propo- 
sitions to  be  entertained. 

First,  every  school  library  book,  not  for  information- 
al purposes,  should  stand  the  test  of  literature — it  should 
be  recognized  as  possessing  the  qualities  of  permanence. 
"Go  to  the  great  books/'  should  be  the  watchword. 
Robinson  Crusoe,  Plutarch,  Bunyan,  Hans  Christian 
Andersen,  Arabian  Nights,  Lamb's  Tales  from  Shake- 
speare,— the  books  that  ring  true  and  set  exalted  ideals. 

Secondly,  the  avoidance  of  the  extended  sets  that 
cumber  the  shelves  and  give  the  children  far  too  much 
of  the  same  cast  of  thought  or  story,  is  desired.  One 
book  from  Henty,  one  from  Optic,  one  or  two  from  Al- 
cott,  one  of  the  Dinsmore  books,  may  perhaps  be  used  to 
advantage ;  but  to  allow  a  child  to  spend  a  whole  year  or 
even  more,  largely  to  the  exclusion  of  other  books,  read- 
ing a  series  into  the  dozens,  not  only  gives  the  child  far 
too  much  of  one  author,  but  wastes  valuable  time. 

Third,  the  books  should  be  attractive  in  make  up.  In 
these  days  of  skilled  illustration  and  large,  clear  type, 
only  the  most  beautiful  in  form  and  the  easiest  upon  the 
eye  should  be  placed  before  the  young.  The  cheaply 
printed,  even  of  the  standard  volumes,  in  the  long  run, 
is  placed  in  the  library  at  a  loss ;  not  only  because  it  soon 
falls  to  pieces  and  must  soon  be  rebound,  but  because  it 
adds  an  unnecessary  tax  to  the  children's  eyesight. 

Fourth,  there  should  be  a  due  proportion  of  the  de- 
partments of  literature  on  the  shelves.  No  library  should 
be  one-sided.  The  great  stones  in  history,  science,  liter- 
ature, art,  should  have  their  places.  This  is  to  give  op- 
portunity for  the  young  readers  to  try  out  their  tastes 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  53 

and  so  shape  them  into  the  lines  of  activity  they  are  by 
nature  fitted  for. 

Fifth,  the  varying  tastes  of  both  boys  and  girls  should 
be  looked  to.  Along  with  " Little  Women"  should  be 
"The  Last  of  the  Mohicans,"  and  "Alice's  Adventures  in 
Wonderland"  should  stand  by  the  side  of  "Tom  Saw- 
yer." 

In  the  selection  of  books  to  place  before  individual 
children  the  teacher  should  study  the  child's  evident  in- 
stincts in  order  to  know  what  talents  are  to  be  nurtured 
and  thus  give  the  books  needed.  Thus  artistically  writ- 
ten biographies,  such  as  the  "Making  of  an  American," 
to  show  how  successful  men  have  had  to  struggle  in  or- 
der to  succeed,  or  Irving's  "Columbus,"  to  set  the  high 
ideal  before  the  boy,  or  "Rebecca  of  Sunnybrook  Farm," 
to  give  a  picture  of  beautiful,  healthful  girlhood,  should 
be  chosen. 

But  the  teacher  should  also  look  for  latent  instincts 
to  the  end  that  books  necessary  to  nourish  these  instmcts 
may  be  selected.  The  books  should  be  thoroughly 
known  by  the  teachers,  so  that  a  child  needing  particular 
phases  of  thought  in  his  mental  development,  can  be 
guided  properly.  For  example,  a  boy  who  does  not 
know  the  law  of  co-operation  with  his  fellows,  and  thus 
fails  to  fit  in  when  work  is  to  be  done  jointly,  will  gain 
a  subtle  lesson  from  "The  Swiss  Family  Robinson/'  One 
who  lacks  in  dependence  and  reliance  upon  his  own  re- 
sources should  be  given  "Robinson  Crusoe."  A  girl,  the 
tenor  of  whose  life  is  to  the  selfish,  should  be  lured  into 
"Old  Curiosity  Shop"  or  "Little  Women,"  or  "Ramona." 
There  are  excellent  stories  having  a  tendency  to  make 
children  kinder  in  their  treatment  of  animals:  "Wilder- 
ness Ways",  Long;  "Animal  Heroes",  Seton ;  "Black 
Beauty",  Sewell;  "The  Call  of  the  Wild",  London; 


54  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

"The  Trail  of  the  Sand  Hill  Stag",  Seton ;  "A  Dog  of 
Flanders",  Ouida ;  "Beautiful  Joe",  Smith;  "Our  De- 
voted Friend,  the  Dog",  Bolton.  This  list  should  be  in 
every  school  library.  Boys  who  hunger  for  adventure, 
and  who  have  a  tendency  to  drop  into  the  light,  trashier 
classes  of  stories,  should  have  access  to  "Treasure  Is- 
land", Stevenson  ;  "Tales  of  the  Fish  Patrol",  London ; 
and  "My  Own  Story",  Joaquin  Miller. 

It  will  be  noted  again  that  reading  has  a  clehnite 
function  in  relation  to  school  literature.  The  formal 
readers,  used  from  day  to  day  in  the  grades,  develop 
power  in  taking  thought  from  the  printed  page.  Sup- 
plementary readers,  on  the  others  hand,  serve  to  give  the 
young  reader  facility. 

This  is  done  through  sight-reading.  The  Supple- 
mentary is  best  used  when  it  is  kept  in  the  pupil's  hand 
only  during  the  reading  lesson  so  as  to  be  fresh  to  the 
end.  Thus,  the  two  school  exercises,  one  giving  power, 
the  other  facility,  prepare  for  the  true  school  reading 
which  is  for  culture  and  reaction  on  character.  What- 
ever the  child  reads  in  connection  with  the  regular  read- 
ing lesson,  since  he  does  it  under  more  or  less  stress,  is 
not  so  vital  to  him  as  what  he  reads  of  his  own  will  from 
the  school  library ;  since  in  the  latter  case  he  is  forming 
a  life  habit.  Hence,  we  finally  make  a  few  pointed  sug- 
gestions as  to  how  to  make  the  library  effective. 

It  is  a  good  plan  to  set  aside  at  least  one  period  per 
week  to  be  used  in  talking  over  library  books.  The  pur- 
pose of  this  hour  is  to  aid  the  children  in  choosing  good 
and  interesting  books  to  read  at  home.  The  keener  the 
insight,  as  has  been  said,  into  the  tastes  of  the  various 
pupils,  the  more  intelligently  can  be  placed  before  them 
the  stories.  The  teacher  must,  beforehand,  be  prepared 
to  put  before  the  child  such  books  as  will  appeal  to  his 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR"  CHILDREN  55 

instincts.  As  the  new  books  come  into  the  library,  by 
reading  judiciously,  the  teacher  will  whet  the  appetites 
of  her  charges  so  that  they  will  desire  to  read  by  them- 
selves to  the  end.  The  greatest  liberty  should  be  given 
the  pupil,  as  no  objectionable  book  should  be  allowed  on 
the  shelves.  Informal  conversational  talks  about  the 
stories  read,  invariably  spread  interest.  Short  stories, 
selected  and  read  aloud  by  the  children  to  the  school, 
also  creates  enthusiasm. 

LIST  OF  ONE  HUNDRED  GOOD  BOOKS 
FOR  CHILDREN. 

The  following  will  be  found  of  service  in  making  se- 
lections for  the  library : 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,  Dickens,  Appleton ;  Alice  of 
Old  Vincennes,  Thompson,  Grosset  and  Dunlap ;  Hans 
Brinker,  Dodge,  Grosset  and  Dunlap ;  My  Own  Story, 
Joaquin  Miller;  Rudder  Grange,  Stockton,  Scribners ; 
Plutarch's  Lives,  Ginn  &  Co. ;  Ivanhoe,  Scott,  Estes ; 
Rose  in  Bloom,  Alcott,  Little;  Bob,  Son  of  Battle,  Olli- 
vant,  Burt ;  Stikeen,  Muir,  Houghton  Mifflin  &  Co. ;  Ro- 
mance of  the  Insect  World,  Badenock,  Macmillan ;  Self 
Help,  Smiles,  Donohue ;  Stories  from  Old  Germany, 
Pratt,  Educational;  Last  Days  of  Pompeii,  Lytton,  Es- 
tes ;  John  Halifax,  Mulock ;  Ben  Hur,  Wallace,  Harper ; 
South  Sea  Idyls,  Charles  Warren  Stoddard,  Scribners ; 
Wilderness  Ways,  Long,  Ginn  &  Co. ;  The  Van  Dyke 
Book,  edited  by  Nims,  Scribners ;  Tales  from  Shake- 
speare, Lamb,  Houghton  Mifflin  &  Co. ;  Selected  Poems 
and  Tales,  Poe,  Silver  Burdett  &  Co. ;  The  Last  of  the 
Mohicans,  Cooper,  Macmillan ;  Little  Women,  Alcott, 
Roberts  Bros. ;  Ramona,  "H.  H.",  Little,  Brown  &  Co. ; 


56  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Old  Curiosity  Shop,  Dickens,  Little,  Brown  &  Co. ; 
Autobiography  of  Franklin,  Ginn  &  Co. ;  The  Sketch 
Book,  Irving,  Putnam ;  Captain  Courageous,  Kipling, 
Century ;  The  Conquest  of  Mexico,  Prescott,  Lippincott ; 
Paul  and  Virginia,  St.  Peirre ;  Hitherto,  Mrs.  A.  D.  T. 
Whitney,  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. ;  The  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field,  Goldsmith,  Crowell ;  Child's  History  of  England, 
Dickens,  Dutton ;  The  Scottish  Chiefs,  Porter,  Crowell ; 
Two  Years  Before  the  Mast,  Dana,  Houghton ;  The 
Winning  of  the  West,  Roosevelt,  Putnam;  Philip  of  Po- 
kanoket,  Irving ;  Madam  How  and  Lady  Why,  Kingsley ; 
Abraham  Lincoln,  Beldium,  American  Book  Co. ;  Trail 
of  Sand  Hill  Stag,  Scribners ;  Swiss  Family  Robinson, 
Wyss,  Ginn  &  Co.,  Adventures  of  Ulysses,  Lamb, 
Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. ;  The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster, 
Eggleston,  Judd ;  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  Stowe,  Rand 
Macnally ;  Starland,  Ball,  Ginn  &  Co. ;  Treasure  Island, 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  Scribners ;  Don  Quixote,  Cer- 
vantes, Macmillan ;  A  Dog  of  Flanders,  Ouida,  Rand ; 
Old  Stories  of  the  East,  Baldwin,  American  Book  Co. : 
The  Making  of  an  American,  Riis,  Macmillan;  Animal 
Heroes,  Seton,  Scribners ;  The  Jungle  Books,  2  Vol.. 
Kipling,  Century;  Story  of  the  Iliad,  Church,  Macmillan  ; 
Story  of  the  Aeneid,  Church,  Maynard  ;  A  Man  With- 
out a  Country,  Hale,  Little,  Brown  &  Co. ;  Tales  From 
Henty,  Educational  Pub.  Co. ;  Being  a  Boy,  Warner, 
Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. ;  Tanglewood  Tales,  Haw- 
thorne, Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. ;  Tecumseh,  Eggleston, 
Dodd,  Mead  £  Co.;  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy,  Aldrich, 
Houghton;  Cudjo's  Cave,  Trowbridge ;  The  Call  of  the 
Wild,  London,  Macmillan ;  Ways  of  Wood-folk,  Long, 
Ginn  &  Co.;  Boy's  King  Arthur,  Lanier,  Scribners; 
Tales  of  a  Grandfather,  Harpers ;  Those  Dreadful  Mouse 
Boys,  Ariel,  Ginn  &  Co. ;  Patsy,  Wiggin,  Houghton, 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  57 

Miffiin  &  Co.;  Tom  Sawyer,  Twain,  Harpers;  The 
Prince  and  the  Pauper,  Twain,  Harpers ;  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  Bunyan,  Century;  Stories  of  Great  Americans, 
Eggleston,  American  Book  Co. ;  Sir  Bevis,  Jeffries, 
Scribners ;  Rebecca  of  Sunnybrook  Farm,  Wiggin,  Little ; 
Saint  Elizabeth,  Burnett,  Scribner ;  Bobtail  Dixie,  Smith, 
Ed.  Publishing  Co. ;  Rab  and  His  Friends,  Brown,  Alte- 
mus ;  The  Boy  General,  Custer,  Scribners ;  Boys  of  '76, 
Coffin,  Estes ;  History  of  the  United  States,  Eggleston, 
American  Book  Co. ;  Knight  and  Barbara,  Jordan ;  Beau- 
tiful Joe,  Saunders,  American  Baptist  Pub.  Co. ;  Arabian 
Nights,  Rand  McNally  &  Co.;  Black  Beauty,  Sewell, 
Lothrop ;  The  Crofton  Boys,  Martineau,  Routledge ;  The 
Bird's  Christmas  Carol,  Wiggin,  Houghton,  Mifflin  & 
Co.;  Water  Babies,  Kingsley,  Macmillan;  Uncle  Remus, 
Harris,  Appleton ;  Fairy  Tales,  Hans  Christian  Ander- 
son, Crowell;  The  Boat  Club,  Optic,  Lee;  Little  Lord 
Fauntleroy,  Burnett,  Scribners ;  Alice  in  Wonderland, 
Carrol,  Hurst ;  Our  Devoted  Friend,  The  Dog,  Bolton, 
Sage  &  Co. ;  Fables,  Aesop,  Macmillan ;  The  King  of  the 
Golden  River,  Ruskin,  McLaughlin ;  Letters  From  a 
Cat,  Jackson,  Little ;  Robinson  Crusoe,  DeFoe,  Ameri- 
can Book  Co. ;  Fifty  Famous  Stories,  Baldwin,  Ameri- 
can Book  Co. ;  Classic  Stories  for  the  Little  Ones,  Mc- 
Murray,  Pub.  School  Pub.  Co. ;  Fanciful  Tales,  Stock- 
ton, Scribners ;  Robinson  Crusoe  for  Youngest  Readers, 
McMurray,  Pub.  School  Pub.  Co.;  Old-Time  Stories 
Retold,  Smythe,  Werner ;  More  Bedtime  Stories,  Moul- 
ton,  Little,  Brown  &  Co. 


58      PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

A  LIST  FOR  READING  ON  HOLIDAYS. 

New  Years:  Ring  Out  Wild  Bells,  Tennyson. 

Feb.  12:  Lincoln,  Markham. 

Feb.  22:  Stanzas  from  the  "Fourth  in  Oregon," 
Miller. 

Arbor  Day :  God's  First  Temples,  Bryant. 

May  i :  Song  of  the  Out  o'  Doors,  Bashford. 

Peace  Day:  Is  It  Worth  While?  Miller. 

July  4:  Paul  Revere's  Ride,  Longfellow;  An  Amer- 
ican Visiting  Europe,  Van  Dyke. 

Oct.  12:  Columbus,  Miller. 

Thanksgiving:  Hymn  of  Thanksgiving,  Will  Carlton. 

Dec.  25 :  California's  Christmas,  Miller ;  The  Night 
before  Christmas,  More. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  59 

Mottoes  for  the  Blackboard 


If  Wisdom's  ways  you  wisely  seek, 
Five  things  observe  with  care : 

To  whom  you  speak,  of  whom  you  speak, 
And  how,  and  when,  and  where. 


A  birdie  with  a  yellow  bill 
Hopped   upon   the   window   sill, 
Cocked  his   shining  eye  and  said: 
"Ain't  you  'shamed,  you  sleepy-head?" 
— R.  Z,.  Stevenson. 


Who  says,  "I  will"  to  what  is  right, 
"I  won't"  to  what  is  wrong, 

Although  a  very  little  child, 
Is  truly  great  and  strong. 

— Author  not  known. 


Good  morning,  little  rose  bush, 

I  pray  thee,  tell  me  true, 
To  be  as  sweet  as  a  sweet  red  rose 

What  must  a  body  do? 
To  be  as  sweet  as  a  sweet  red  rose, 

A  little  girl  like  you 
Just  grows,  and  grows,  and  grows,  and 

And  that's  what  she  must  do. 


In  the  heart  of  a  seed 
Buried  deep,  so  deep, 

A  dear  little  plant 
Lay  fast  asleep. 

"Wake !"  said  the  sunshine, 
"And  creep  to  the  light !" 

"Wake !"  said  the  voice 
Of  the  raindrop  bright, 


60  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

The   little  plant  heard, 

And  it  rose  to  see 
What   the   wonderful 

Outside  world  might  be. 

A 

The  world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things, 
I'm  suje  we  should  all  be  as  happy  as  kings, 
— R.  L.  Stevenson. 


All   things  bright  and  beautiful, 

All  things  great  and  small, 
All  things  wise  and  wonderful, 

The  Lord  God  made  them  all. 

— Mrs.  C.  F.  Alexander. 


Let  me  be  a  sunbeam 
Everywhere   I   go, 

Making  glad  and  happy 
Every  one  I  know. 


If  a  task  is  once  begun 

Never  leave  it  till  it's  done ; 

Be  the  labor  great  or  small, 
Do  it  well  or  not  at  all. 

— Author  unknown. 


Politeness  is  to  do  and  say, 

The  kindest  thing  in  the  kindest  way. 


Swift  kindnesses  are  best ;  a  long  delay 
In  kindness  takes  the  kindness  all  away. 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best      ,    / 
All  things  both  great  and  small : 

For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all. 

— Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  r,l. 

Then  give  to  the  world  the  best  you  have, 
And  the  best  will  come  back  to  you. 

—  Madeline  S.  Bridges, 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  Rainbow  in  the  sky; 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began  ; 
So  is  it  now  I  am  a  Man  ; 
So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old, 

Or  let  me  die  ! 

—  Wordsworth. 


So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 
So  near  is  God  to  man, 
When  duty  whispers  low,  "Thou  must," 
The  youth  replies,  "I  can." 

—  Ralph   Waldo  Emerson. 


Write  it  on  your  heart  that  every  day  is  the  best  day  of  the 
year.  —  Emerson. 

These   are   the   best   days   of  my  life  ;   these   are   my  golden 
days.  —  Seton. 

--  •  - 

Keep   thinking   one   thought   ahead   of   the   other   fellow   and 
you're  bound  to  win  out.  —  Jack  London. 


Dost  thou  love  life?     then  do  not  squander  time  for  that  is 
the  stuff  that  life  is  made  of.  —  Ben/.  Franklin. 


The  year's  at  the  Spring 
And   day's   at  the  morn  ; 
Morning's   at   seven  ; 
The   hill-side's   dew-pearled  ; 
The  lark's  on   the  wing; 
The  snail's  oft  the  thorn  ; 
God's  in  his  heaven  — 
All's   right   with  the   world! 

—  Robert   Browning. 
(By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Jog  on,  jog  on  the   foot  path  way, 

And  merrily  hent  the  stile-a; 
A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 

Your  sad  tires  a  mile-a. 

—  A   Winter's  Tale. 

___  ^  __ 

This  above  all  :  to  thine  own  self  be  true, 
And  it  must  follow  as  the  night  the  day 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

—  Shakespeare. 

^ 

We  are  the  mariners  and  God  the  sea  ; 
And  though  we  make  false  reckonings,  and  run 
Wide  of  a  righteous  course  and  are  undone  ; 

Out  of  the  depths  of  His  love  we  cannot  be. 

—  Carey. 

All  that  I  know 

Of  a  certain  star 

Is,  it  can  throw 

(Like  the  angled  spar) 

Now  a  dart  of  red, 

Now  a  dart  of  blue  ; 

Till  my  friends  have  said 

They  would  fain  see,  too, 

My  star  that  darts  the  red  and  the  blue  ! 

Then  it  stops  like  a  bird  ;  like  a  flower  hangs  furled  : 

They  must  solace  themselves  with  the  Saturn  above  it. 

What  matter  to  me  if  their  star  is  a  world? 

Mine  has  opened  its  soul  to  me  ;  therefore  I  love  it. 

—  Robert  Browning. 
(By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 


Tn  men  whom  men  condemn  as  ill, 

I  find  so  much  of  go.odness  still  ; 
Tn  men  whom  men  pronounce  divine, 

I  find  so  much  of  sin  and  blot, 
I  do  not  dare  to  draw  a  line 
Between  the  two,  where  God  has  not. 
—  Joaquin  Miller. 

(By  permission  of  the  author,  The  Whitaker  &  Kay  Co., 
Publishers.) 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  63 

O  world,  as  God  has  made  it  !     All  is  beauty  : 

And  knowing  this,  is  love,  and  love  is  duty. 

What  further  may  be  sought  for  or  declared? 

—  Robert  Broivning. 

(By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 


Stay  not  fettered  in  inaction, 

Swiftly  venture,   swiftly   roam, 
Head  and  hand  in  glad  connection, 

Everywhere  will  be  at  home. 
Where  beneath  the  sun  you  revel, 
Care  with  you  will  ne'er  abide  ; 
Room  there  is  for  all  to  travel, 
Therefore  is  the  world  so  wide. 

—  Goethe, 


Let  those  love  now, 

Who  never  loved  before  ; 
Let  those  who  always  loved, 

Now  love  the  more. 


Look  not  mournfully  into  the  past,  it  comes  not  back  again. 
Wisely  improve  the  present,  it  is  thine.  Go  forth  to  meet  the 
shadowy  future  without  fear  and  with  a  manly  heart.  —  (From 
a  German  inscription  translated  by  Longfellow  in  Hyperion.) 


Flower  in  the  crannii-d  wall, 

I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies, 

I  hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 

Little  flower  —  but  if  I  could  understand 

What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 

I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

—  Tennyson. 
(By   permission    of   Houghton,   Mifflin   &   Co.,    Publishers.) 


There  is  no  death  !    What  seems  so  is  transition  ; 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 

Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  eylsian, 

Whose  portal  we  call  death. 

—  Longfellow. 


64  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold. 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold'st 
But  in  its  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubim: 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls  ; 
But  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  us  in  we  cannot  hear  it. 
—  Shakespeare's  Merchant  of  Venice. 


The  night  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

The  day  but  one  ; 
Yet  the  light  of  the  whole  world  dies 

When  day  is  done. 

The  mind  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

The  heart  but  one; 
Yet  the  light  of  the  whole  life  dies, 

When  love  is  done. 

—  Bourdillon. 
-  •  - 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained  ; 

It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 

Upon  the  place  beneath.     It  is  twice  blest  ; 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes  ; 

'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest  :     It  becomes 

The  throned  monarch  better  than   his  crown  : 

His  scepter  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 

The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 

Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings  ; 

But  mercy  is  above  the  sceptered  sway  ; 

It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, 

It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 

And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's 

When  mercy  seasons  justice. 

—  Shakespeare. 

There  is  no  death.  The  stars  go  down 

To  rise  upon  some  fairer  shore  ; 
And  bright  in  heaven's  jeweled  crown 

They  shine  forevermore. 

—  Sir  Edward  Bulwer-Lytton 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  65 

O  could  I  flow  with  thee, 
And  make  thy  stream 
My  great  example, 
As   it  is   my  theme; 
Though  deep  yet  clear, 
Though  gentle  yet  dull, 
Strong  without  rage, 
Without  o'erflowing,  full. 

—  Denham. 


Life  is  an  arrow  —  therefore  you  must  know 
What  mark  to  aim  at,  how  to  use  the  bow-- 
Then draw  it  to  the  head,  and  let  it  go  !  — 

—  Henry  van  Dyke. 

(By  permission   of  the   author,   Chas.    Scribner's   Sons, 
Publishers.) 


Some  hae  meat  and  canna  eat, 
And  some  wad  eat  that  want  it; 

But  we  hae  meat  and  we  can  eat, 
And  sae  the  Lord  be  thankit. 

—  Burns. 


Be  ready.  —  Roosevelt. 


Aggressive   righting   for   the   right   is   the   greatest   sport   the 
world  knows.  —  Roosevelt. 


Heaven  is  not  reached  at  a  single  bound, 
But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 

And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 
—  Josiah  Gilbert  Holland. 


I  like  the  lad,  who,  when  his  father  thought 
To  clip  his  morning  nap  by  hackneyed  phrase 

Of  vagrant  worm  by  early  songster  caught, 
Cried,  'Served  him  right  !  —  it's  not  at  all  surprising  ; 
The  worm  was  punished,  sir,  for  early  rising!' 

—  John  G.  Saxe. 


66  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Forenoon,  and  afternoon,  and  night,  —  Forenoon, 
And  afternoon,  and  night,  —  Forenoon,  and  —  What  ! 
The  empty  song  repeats  itself.     No  more? 
Yea,  that  is  Life  :  make  this  forenoon  sublime, 
This  afternoon  a  psalm,  this  night  a  prayer, 
And  Time  is  conquered,  and  thy  crown  is  won. 

—E.  R.  Sill. 
(Permission    of   Houghton,   Mifflin   &   Co.,    Publishers.) 


RAIN    IN    SUMMER. 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain  ! 
After  the  dust  and  the  heat, 
In  the  broad  and  fiery  street, 
In  the  narrow  lane, 
How  beautiful  is  the  rain  ! 

—  Longfellow. 

WHAT    IS   SO    RARE   AS  A    DAY    IN    JUNE? 

And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days  ; 
Then  heaven  tries  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays  ; 
Whether  we  look  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur  or  see  it  glisten  ; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers. 

—  Lowell. 


A  man  may  be  young  in  years  and  old  in  hours,  if  he  have 
lost  no  time.  —  Francis  Bacon. 


I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 

(Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense 

Yet  wanting  sensibility)   the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 

—  Cowper. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  67 

In  the  morning  sow  thy  seed,  in  the  evening  withhold  not 
thine  hand  ;  for  thou  knowest  not  whether  shall  prosper  either 
this  or  that  or  whether  they  both  shall  be  alike  good.  —  Eccles. 
11-6. 


Virtue  is  like  a  rich  jewel,  best  plain  set.  —  Bacon. 

Sin  has  a  great  many  tools  but  a  lie  is  the  handle  which  fits 
them  all.  —  Holmes. 


And  O  the  voices  I  have  heard  ! 
Such  visions  where  the  morning  grows  ! 
A  brother's  soul  in  some  sweet  bird  ! 
A  sister's  spirit  in  a  rose  ! 

—Miller. 


And  ever  and  ever  the  boundless  bine  ; 
And  ever  and  ever  the  green  green  sod  ; 
And  ever  and  ever,  between  the  two, 
Walk  the  wonderful  winds  of  God  ! 

—Miller. 
-  «  - 

Man  is  his  own  star,  and  the  soul  than  can 
Render  an  honest  and  perfect  man, 
Commands  all  light,  all  influence,  all  fate  ; 
Nothing  to  him  falls  early  or  too  late  ; 
Our  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 
Our  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  still. 

—  Fletcher. 


68  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Some  of  the  Treasures 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  TEMPEST. 

We  were  crowded  in  the  cabin, 
Not  a  soul  would  dare  to  sleep  ; 

It  was  midnight  on  the  waters, 
And  a  storm  was  on  the  deep. 

'Tis  a  fearful  thing  in  winter 

To  be  shattered  by  the  blast, 
And  to  hear  the   rattling  trumpet 

Thunder,  "Cut  away  the  mast  !" 

So   we   shuddered   there   in   silence  — 
For  the  stoutest  held  his  breath  — 

While  the   hungry   sea   was   roaring 
And   the  breakers  talked  with   Death. 

And  as  thus  we  sat  in  darkness, 
Each  one  busy  with   his   prayers, 

"We   are   lost  !"   the   captain    shouted, 
As  he  staggered  down  the  stairs. 

But  his  little  daughter  whispered, 

As  she  took  his  icy  hand, 
"Isn't  God  upon  the  ocean, 

Just  the  same  as  on  the  land?" 

Then  we  kissed  the  little  maiden, 
And  we  spoke  in  better  cheer, 

And  we  anchored  safe  in  harbor 
When  the  morn  was   shining  clear. 

—  James  T.  Field*. 


MARY    HAD    A    LITTLE    LAMB, 

Mary  had  a  little  lamb, 

It's  fleece  was  white  as  snow  ; 
And  everywhere  that  Mary  went, 

The  lamb  was  sure  to  go. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  69 

ie  followed  her  to  school  one  day ; 

That  was  against  the  rule ; 
t  made  the  children  laugh  and  play 

To  see  a  lamb  in  school. 

So  the  teacher  turned  him  out, 

But  still  he  lingered  near, 
And   waited  patiently  about 

Till  Mary  did  appear. 

And  then  he  ran  to  her,  and  laid 

His  head  upon  her  arm, 
A.S  if  he  said,  "I'm  not  afraid — 

"You'll  keep  me  from  all  harm." 

"What  makes  the  lamb  love  Mary  so?" 

The  eager  children  cry. 
'*Oh,   Mary  loves  the  lamb,  you  know," 

The  teacher  did  reply. 

And  you  each  gentle  animal 

In  confidence  may  bind, 
And  make  it  follow  at  your  will, 

If  you  are  only  kind. 

FATE. 

The  sky  is  clouded,  the  rocks  are  bare, 
The  spray  of  the  tempest  is  white  in  air, 
The  winds  are  out  with  the  waves  at  play, 
f\nd  I  shall  not  tempt  the  sea  today. 

The  trail  is  narrow,  the  wood  is  dim, 
The  panther  clings  to  the  arching  limb, 
The  lion's  whelps  are  abroad  at  play, 
And  I  shall  not  join  in  the  chase  today. 

But  the  ship  sailed  safely  over  the  sea. 
And  the  hunters  came  from  the  chase  in  glee, 
And  the  town  that  was  builded  upon  a  rock, 
Was  swallowed  up  in  an  earthquake  shock. 

— Bret  Harte. 
(By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflfn  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 


70      PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

THE  SCULPTOR  BOY. 

Chisel  in  hand  stood  a  sculptor  boy 

With   his   marble  block  before   him, 

And  his  face  lit  up  with  a  gleam  of  joy 

As  an  angel  dream  passed  o'er  him. 

He  carved  it  then  on  the  yielding  stone 

With  many  a  sharp  incision : 

With   Heaven's  own  light  the  sculptor  shone ; 

He  had  caught  that  angel  vision. 

Scuptors  of  life  are  as  we  stand 

With  our  lives  uncarved  before  us, 

Waiting  the  time  when  at  God's  command 

The  angel  dream  comes  o'er  us. 

Let  us  carve  it  then  on  the  yielding  stone 

With  many  a  shap  incision. 

It's  Heavenly  beauty  shall  be  our  own, 

Our  lives,  that  angel  vision. 

— Doan. 
• 

LITTLE  DROPS  OF  WATER. 

Little  drops  of  water, 
Little   grains   of   sand 
Make  the  mighty  ocean 
And   the   pleasant   land, 

And  the  little  minutes, 
Humble  though  they  be, 
Make  the  mighty  ages 
Of  eternity. 

So  our  little  errors 
Lead  the  soul  away 
From  the  path  ,of  virtue, 
Oft  in  sin  to  stray. 

Little   deeds   of  kindness. 
Little   words   of  love 
Make  our  earth  an  Eden, 
Like  the  Heaven  above. 

—  Brewer. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  71 

BURIAL  OF  SIR   JOHN    MOORE. 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried; 
Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly,  at  head  of  night, 
The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning, 
By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light, 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 
Not  in  sheet  or  in  shroud  we  wound  him ; 
But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest, 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow; 

But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  of  the  dead, 

And  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

We  thought  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed, 

And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow, 

That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his  head, 

And  we  far  away  on  the  billow ! 

Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that's  gone, 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him ; 
But  little  he'll  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done 
When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring ; 
And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 
From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory; 
We  carved  not  a  line,  and  wre  raised  not  a  stone — 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 

—Charles   Wolfe. 


72  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

LOCHINVAR. 

Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  put  of  the  West ! 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best, 
And  save  his  good  broadsword,  he  weapons  had  nunc ; 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  Knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  stayed  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for  stone, 

He  swarm  the  Esk  river  where  lord  there  was  none; 

But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 

The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late. 

For  a  laggard  in  love  and  a  dastard  in  war 

Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  young  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  urides-men,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and  all ; 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword 

^For  tlie  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word)  : 

"Oh,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar?" 

"1  long  wooed  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied; 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide.! 
And  now,  I  am  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 
To  tread  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine ! 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  young  Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet;  the  Knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar ; 
"Now  tread  we  a  measure !"  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 
That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 
While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume, 
And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and  plume ; 
And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  "'Twere  better  by  far 
To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar." 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  73 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 

When  they  reached  the  hall-door,  and  the  charger  stood  near; 

So  light  to  the  croup  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 

So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung! 

"She  is  won !"  We  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur ; 

They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young  Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby  clan ; 

Fosters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and  they  ran ; 

There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  Lea, 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar? 

—Sir  Walter  Scott. 
« 

THE  SINGING   LESSON. 

A  nightingale  made  a  mistake ; 

She  sang  a  few  notes  out  of  tune ; 
Her  heart  was  ready  to  break, 

And  she  hid  from  the  moon. 
She  wrung  her  claws,  poor  thing! 

But  was  far  too  proud  to  weep ; 
She  tucked  her  head  under  her  wing, 

And  pretended  to  be  asleep. 

A  lark,  arm  in  arm  with  a  thrush, 

Came  sauntering  up  to  the  place ; 
The  nightingale  felt  herself  blush, 

Though  feathers  hid  her  face. 
She  knew  they  had  heard  her  song, 

She  felt  them  snicker  and  sneer ; 
She  thought  this  life  was  too  long, 

And  wished  she  could  skip  a  year 

"Oh,   Nightingale,"  cooed  a  dove — 

"Oh,  Nightingale,  what's  the  use? 
You  bird  of  beauty  and  love, 

Why  behave  like  a  goose? 
Don't  skulk  away  from  our  sight, 

Like  common,  contemptible  fowl ; 
You  bird  of  joy  and  delight, 

Why  behave  like  an  owl?" 


74      PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

"Only  think  of  all  you  have  done, 

Only  think  of  all  you  can  do; 
A  false  note  is  really  fun 

From  such  a  bird  as  you. 
Lift  up  your  proud  little  crest, 

Open  your  musical  beak ; 
Other  birds  have  to  do  their  best — 

You  need  only  to  speak." 

The   nightingale   shyly  took 

Her  head  from  under  her  wing, 
And,  giving  the  dove  a  look, 

Straightway  began  to  sing. 
There  was  never  a  bird  could  pass  ,- 

The  night  was  divinely  calm, 
And  the  people  stood  on  the  grass 

To  hear  that  wonderful  psalm. 

The  nightingale  did  not  care ; 

She  only  sang  to  the  skies ; 
Her  song  ascended  there, 

And  there  she  fixed  her  eyes. 
The  people  that  stood  below 

She  knew  but  little  about ; 
And  this  story's  a  moral,  I  know, 

If  you'll  try  to  find  it  out. 

— Jean  Ingelow. 

THE    DESTRUCTION   OF   SENNACHERIB. 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  with  purple  and  gold, 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the  sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  summer  is  green, 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were  seen ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  autumn  hath  blown, 
That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  withered  and  strown. 

For  the  angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on  the  T)last, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  passed  ; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  waxed  deadly  and  chill, 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  forever  were  still. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  75 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostrils  all  wide, 
But  through  them  there  rolled  not  the  breath  of  his  pride  ; 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the  turf, 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider,  distorted  and  pale, 
With  the  dew  on  his  brow,  and  the  rust  on  his  mail, 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone, 
The  lances  uplifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their  wail, 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal, 
And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the  sword, 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord  ! 

—  Lord  Byron. 

^ 

"SWEET   AND    LOW." 

Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea, 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea  ! 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 

Come  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 
Blow  him  again  to  me, 

While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one,  sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest, 

Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 
Under  the  silver  moon  : 

Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep  my  pretty  one,  sleep. 

—  Alfred  Tennyson. 
(By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  £  Co.,  Publishers.) 


THE    WAY    FOR    BILLY   AND    ME. 

Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep, 
Where  the  gray  trout  lies  asleep, 
Up  the  river  and  o'er  the  lea, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 


76  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Where  the  blackbird  sings  the  latest, 
Where  the  hawthorn  blooms  the  sweetest, 
Where  the  nestlings  chirp  and  flee, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  mowers  mow  the  cleanest, 
Where  the  hay  lies  thick  and  greenest ; 
There  to  trace  the  homeward  bee, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  hazel  bank  is  steepest, 
Where  the  shadow  falls  the  deepest, 
Where  the  clustering  nuts  fall  free, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

—Hogg. 


THE   ARAB'S   FAREWELL  TO    HIS    HORSE. 

My  beautiful !  my  beautiful !  that  standeth  meekly  by, 

With   thy  proudly-arched  and  glossy   neck  and   dark   and   fiery 

eye, 

Fret  not  to  roam  the  desert  now,  with  all  thy  winged  speed; 
I  may  not  mount  on  thee  again — thou'rt  sold,  my  Arab  steed ! 
Fret  not  with  that  impatient  hoof — snuff  not  the  breezy  wind — 
The  farther  that  thou  fliest  now,  so  far  am  I  behind ; 
The   stranger   hath   thy  bridle-rein — thy  master   hath  his   gold — 
Fleet-limbed    and    beautiful,    farewell ;    thou'rt    sold,    my    steed, 

thou'rt  sold. 

Farewell !  those  free,  untired  limbs  full  many  a  mile  must  roam 
To  reach  the  chill  and  wintry  sky  which  clouds  the   stranger's 

home ; 

Some  other  hand,  less  fond,  must  now  thy  corn  and  bed  prepare, 
Thy  silky  mane,  I  braided  once,  must  be  another's  care  i 
The  morning  sun  shall  dawn  again,  but  never  more  with  thee 
Shall  I  gallop  through  the  desert  paths  where  \\o  were  wont  to 

be ; 

Evening  shall  darken  on  the  earth,  and  o'er  The  sandy  plain. 
Some  other  steed,  with  slower  step,   shall  bear  me  home  again. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  77 

Yes,  them  must  go !   the  wild,  free  breeze,  the  brilliant  sun  and 

sky, 

Thy  master's  home, — from  all  of  these  my  exiled  one  must  fly; 
Thv  proud  dark  eye  will  grow  less  proud,  thy  step  become  less 

fleet, 

And  vainly  shalt  thou  arch  thy  neck  thy  master's  hand  to  meet. 
Only  in  sleep  shall  I  behold  that  dark  eye,  glancing  bright ; — 
Only  in  sleep  shall  hear  again  that  step  so  firm  and  light ; 
And   when   I   raise   my  dreaming  arm  to  check    or    cheer     thy 

speed, 
Then    must    I,    starting,    wake   to    feel, — thou'rt    sold,    my    Arab 

steed ! 

Ah  !  rudely  then,  unseen  by  me,  some  cruel  hand  may  chide, 
Till    foam-wreaths    lie,    like    crested    waves,    along    thy    panting 

side : 

And  the  rich  blood  that's  in  thee  swells,  in  thy  indignant  pain, 
Till  careless  eyes,  which  rest  on  thee,  may  count  each  started 

vein. 

Will  they  ill-use  thee?     If  I  thought — but  no,  it  cannot  be — 
Thou  are  so  swift  yet  easy  curbed;  so  gentle,  yet  so  free: 
And  yet,   if  happy,   when  thou'rt  gone,   my  lonely  heart   should 

yearn — 
Can   the  hand  which  casts  thee   from  it  now  command  thee  to 

return  ? 

Return '    alas !  my  Arab  steed !  what  shall  thy  master  do 
When   thou,   who  wast   his   all  of  joy,   hast  vanished   from  his 

view? 

When  the  dim  distance  cheats  mine  eye,  and  through  the  gath- 
ering tears 

Thy  bright  form,  for  a  moment,  like  the  false  mirage  appears ; 
Slow  and  unmounted  shall  I   roam,  with  weary  step  alone, 
Where,  with   fleet   step  and  joyous  bound,   thou   oft   hast  borne 

me  one ; 

And  sitting  down  by  that  green  well  I'll  pause  and  sadly  think, 
"It   was   here   he  bowed  his   glossy  neck,  when   last   I   saw  him 
drink !" 

When    last    I    saw    thee    drink ! — Away !    the    fevered    dream    is 

o'er — 
I  could  not  live  a  day  and  know  that  we  should  meet  no  more ! 


78  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Tliex   tempted  me,  my  beautiful! — for  hunger's  power  is  btiong — 
They  tempted  me,  my  beautiful !  but  I  have  loved  too  long. 
Who  said  that  I  had  given  thee  up?  who  said  that  thou  wast 

sold? 
'Tis   false — 'tis   false,   my   Arab   steed !    I   fling  them  back   their 

gold! 

Thus,  thus,  I  leap  upon  thy  back,  and  scour  the  distant  plains ; 
Away!  who  overtakes  us  now  shall  claim  thee  for  his  pains! 

— Caroline  Norton. 


THE  CHARGE  OF  THE   LIGHT   BRIGADE. 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 

Half  a  league  onward 
All  in  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"Forward  the  Light  Brigade ! 

Charge  for  the  guns !"  he  said : 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

"Forward  the  Light  Brigade !" 

Was  there  a  man  dismayed? 
Not,  though  the  soldier  knew 

Some  one  had  blundered. 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 

Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die : 

Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 

Cannon   to  left   of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them, 

Volleyed  and  thundered; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 

Boldly  they  rode  and  well, 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 

Into  the  mouth  of  Hell, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  79 

Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare, 

Flashed  as  they  turned  in  air, 
Sab'ring  the  gunners  there, 

Charging  an  army  while 
All  the  world  wondered. 

Plunged  in  the  battery  smoke, 
Right  through  the  line  they  broke : 

Cossack  and  Russian 
Reeled  from  the  sabre-stroke, 

Shattered  and  sundered. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not, 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 

Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them, 

Volleyed   and   thundered. 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 

While  horse  and  hero  fell, 
They  that  had  fought  so  well 

Came  through  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Back   from  the  mouth  of  Hell, 

All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade? 

Oh,  the  wild  charge  they  made ! 
All  the  world  wondered. 

Honor  the  charge  they  made ! 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade ! 
Noble  six  hundred ! 

— Alfred  Tennyson. 
(Permission   of  Houghton,   Mifflin  &  Co.,   Publishers.) 

THE   LANDING   OF  THE   PILGRIMS. 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 

On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 

And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 

Their  giant  branches  tossed ; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark, 

The  hills  and  waters  o're, 

When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 


80  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

In  silence  and  in  fear,  — 

They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert  gloom, 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea, 

And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 

To  the  anthem  of  the  free. 

The  ocean  eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's   foam, 

And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared  — 

This  was  their  welcome  home. 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band  ; 

Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 

Away  from  their  childhood's  land? 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  love's  truth  ; 

There  was  manhood's  brow  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine? 

The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war? 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine. 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod; 

They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found- 

Freedom  to  worship  God. 

—  Felicia  Hemans. 


CASABIANCA. 

The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck 
Whence  all  but  him  had  fled  ; 

The  flame  that  lit  the  battle's  wreck- 
Shone  round  him  o'er  the  dead. 

Yet  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood, 
As  born  to  rule  the  storm  ; 

A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 
A  proud,  though  child-like  form. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

The  flames  rolled  on — he  would  not  go 

Without  his  father's  word  r 
That  father,  faint  in  death  below, 

His  voice  no  longer  heard. 

He  called  aloud,  "Say,  father,  say, 

If  yet  my  task  is  done?" 
He  knew  not  that  the  chieftain  lay 

Unconscious  of  his  son. 


"Speak,  father,"  once  again  he  cried, 

"If  I  may  yet  be  gone !" 
And  but  the  booming  shots  replied, 

And  fast  the  flames  rolled  on. 


Upon  his  brow  he  felt  their  breath, 

And  in  his  waving  hair, 
And  looked  from  that  lone  post  of  death 

In  still,  yet  brave  despair; 

And  shouted  but  once  more  aloud, 

"My  father,  must  I  stay?" 
While  o'er  him  fast,  through  sail  and  shroud, 

The  wreathing  fires  made  way. 

They  wrapt  the  ship  in  splendor  wild, 

They  caught  the  flag  on  high, 
And  streamed  above  the  gallant  child 

Like  banners  in  the  sky. 

There  came  a  burst  of  thunder-sound— 

The  boy ! — oh,  where  was  he  ? 
Ask  of  the  winds  that  far  around 

With   fragments   strewed  the  sea — 

With  mast,  and  helm,  and  pennon  fair, 

That  well  had  borne  their  part: 
But  the  noblest  thing,  that  perished  there 

Was  that  young,  faithful  heart! 

— Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 
THE  EVE  OF  WATERLOO. 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 

And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men. 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily;  and  when 

Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 
Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 

And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell; 
But  hush !  hark !  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell ! 

Did  ye  not  hear  it?    No;  'twas  but  the  wind, 

Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street. 
On  with  the^dance!  let  joy  be  unconfined ! 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet ! 

But  hark ! — the  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat; 

And  near,  clearer,  deadlier,  than  before ! 
Arm !   arm !   it  is — it  is  the   cannon's  opening  roar ! 

Ah !  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which,  but  an  hour  ago, 

Blushed  at  the  praise  of  thejr  own  loveliness ; 
And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 

The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 
Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated :  who  could  guess 

If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes, 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could  rise? 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste:  the  steed, 

The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 

And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war ; 
And  the  deep  thunder  peal  on  peal  afar; 

And  near  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star ; 

While  thronged  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 
Or  whispered  with  white  lips,  "The  foe !     They  come ! 
They  come !" 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  §3 

Artel  Ardennes  waves  above  them  her  green  leaves, 

Dewy  with   Nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass, 
Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves, 

Over  the  unreturning  brave  —  alas  ! 
Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass 

Which,  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow 
In  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass 

Of  living  valour,  rolling  on  the  foe, 
And  burning  with.  high  hope,  shall  moulder  cold  and  low. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 

Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay, 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal  sound  of  strife, 

The  morn  the  marshalling  in  arms,  —  the  day, 
Battle's  magnificently  stern  array  ! 

The  thunder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which,  when  rent, 
The  earth  is  covered  with  other  clay, 

Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heaped  and  pent, 
Rider,  and  horse  —  friend,  foe  —  in  one  red  burial  blent! 

—  Byron. 


ABOU    BEN    ADHEM. 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase!) 

Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 

And  saw,  within  the  moonlight  in  his  room, 

Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 

An  angel,  writing  in  a  book  of  gold. 

Exceeding  peace  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 

And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 

"What  writest  thou?"     The  vision   raised   its  head, 

And,  with  a  look  made  of  all-sweet  accord, 

Answered,  "The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord." 

"And  is  mine  one?"  said  Abou.     "Nay,  not  so," 

Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spoke  more  low, 

But  cheerily  still;  and  said,  "I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellowmen." 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished.     The  next  night 

It  came  again  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blessed, 

And  lo  !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest  ! 

—  Leigh  Hunt. 


84      PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

THE  BROOK. 

I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down, 
Or  slip  between  the  ridges, 

By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 
And  half  a  hundred  bridges. 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  man  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 
In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 

I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 
I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But   I   go  on   forever. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  put, 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 

And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel 
With  many  a   silvery  waterbreak 
Above,  the  golden  gravel, 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  85 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

]  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers  ; 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots, 
That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 

Among  my  skimming  swallows  ; 
I  make  the  netted  sunbeams  dance 

Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildnesses  ; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars  ; 
I  loiter  round  my  cresses  ; 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  forever.  —  Tennyson. 

(By  permission  of  Houghton,  MifBin  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 


THE    NIGHT    BEFORE    CHRISTMAS. 

'Twas  the  night  before  Christmas,  when  all  through  the  house, 

Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mouse  ; 

The  stockings  were  hung  by  the  chimney  with  care, 

In  hope  that  St.  Nicholas  soon  would  be  there  ; 

The  children  were  nestled  all  snug  in  their  beds, 

While  visions  of  sugar-plums  danced  through  their  heads  ; 

And  mama  in  her  kerchief,  and  I  in  my  cap, 

Had  settled  our  brains  for  a  long  winter's  nap, 

When  out  on  the  lawn  arose  such  a  clatter, 

I  sprang  from  my  bed  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

Away  to  the  window  I  flew  like  a  flash, 

Tore  open  the  shutters,  and  threw  up  the  sash. 

The  moon  on  the  breast  of  the  new-fallen  snow 

Gave  a  lustre  of  mid-day  to  objects  below  ; 

When  what  to  my  wondering  eyes  should  appear, 


86  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

But  a  miniature  sleigh,  and  eight  tiny  reindeer, 
With  a  little  old  driver,  so  lively  and  quick, 
I  knew  in  a  moment  it  must  be  St.  Nick ! 

More  rapid  than  eagles  his  coursers  they  came, 
And  he  whistled,  and  shouted,  and  called  them  by  name : 
"Now,  Dasher !    now,  Dancer !    now,  Prancer !  now,  Vixen  ! 
On,  Comet,  on  Cupid !  on,  Donder  and  Blitzen  ! — 
To  the  top  of  the  porch,  to  the  top  of  the  wall ! 
Now,  dash  away,  dash  away,  dash  away  all !" 

As  dry  leaves  that  before  the  wild  hurricane  fly, 
When  they  meet  with  an  obstacle  mount  to  the  sky, 
So  up  to  the  housetops  the  coursers  they  flew, 

With  sleigh  full  of  toys  and  St.  Nicholas  too. 
And  then  in  a  twinkle  I  heard  on  the  roof 
The  prancing  and  pawing  of  each  little  hoof. 
As  I  drew  in  my  head,  and  was  turning  around, 
Down  the  chimney  St.  Nicholas  came  with  a  bound. 
He  was  dressed  alt  in  fur  from  his  head  to  his  foot, 
And  his  clothes  were  all  tarnished  with  ashes  and  soot ; 
A  bundle  of  toys  he  had  flung  on  his  back, 
And  he  looked  like  a  peddler  just  opening  his  pack. 
His  eyes  how  they  twinkled !  his  dimples  how  merry, 
His  cheeks  were  like  roses,  his  nose  like  a  cherry ; 
His  droll  little  mouth  was  drawn  up  like  a  bow, 
And  the  beard  on  his  chin  was  as  white  as  the  snow. 
The  stump  of  a  pipe  he  held  tight  in  his  teeth, 
And  the  smoke,  it  encircled  his  head  like  a  wreath. 
He  had  a  broad  face  and  a  little  round  belly, 
That  shook,  when  he  laughed,  like  a  bowl  full  of  jelly. 
He  was  chubby  and  plump — a  right  jolly  old  elf — 
And  I  laughed  when  I  saw  him,  in  spite  of  myself. 
A  wink  of  his  eye,  and  a  twist  of  his  head, 
Soon  gave  me  to  know  I  had  nothing  to  dread. 
He  spake  not  a  word,  but  went  straight  to  his  work, 
And  filled  all  the  stockings;  then  turned  with  a  jerk, 
And  laying  his  finger  aside  of  his  nose, 
And  giving  a  nod,  up  the  chimney  he  rose. 
He  sprang  to  his  sleigh,  to  his  team  gave  a  whistle, 
And  away  they  all  flew  like  the  down  of  a  thistle; 
But  I  heard  him  exclaim,  ere  he  drove  out  of  sight, 
"Happy  Christmas  to  all,  and  to  all  a  good-night !" 

— Clement  C.  Moore. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  :87 

THE   ARROW   AND   THE   SONG. 

I  shot  an  arrow  into  the  air, 
Tt  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where ; 
For,  so  swiftly  it  flew,  the  sight 
Could  not  follow  it  in  its  flight. 

I  breathed  a  song  into  the  air, 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where  j 
For  who  has  sight  so  keen  and  strong, 
That  it  can  follow  the  flight  of  song? 

Long,  long  afterward,  in  an  oak 
I  found  the  arrow,  still  unbroke, 
And  the  song,  from  beginning  to  end, 
I  found  again  in  the  heart  of  a  friend. 

— Longfellow. 
(By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,   Publishers.) 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  ship  of  State ! 

Sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great! 

Humanity  with  all  its  fears, 

With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 

Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate! 

We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 

What  workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel, 

Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 

What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 

In  what  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 

Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope ! 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 

'Tis  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock; 

'Tis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 

And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale ! 

In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest's  roar, 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea ! 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes  are  all  with  thee, 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears ; 

Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 

Are  all  with  thee, — are  all  with  thee ! 

— Longfellow. 
(P,y  permission  of  Hong-lit  on,  Mifflin  &  Co.,   Publishers.) 


88  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Breathes  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
This  is  my  own,  my  native  land? 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burn'd, 
As  home  his  footseps  he  hath  turn'd 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand? 
If  such  there  breathe,  go  mark  him  well ; 
For  him  no  minstrel  raptures  swell, 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim ; 
Despite  those  titles,  power  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concentered  all  in  self, 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust,  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung. 

— Scoti. 

LORD    ULLIN'S    DAUGHTER. 

A  chieftain  to  the  Highlands  bound 
Cried,  "Boatman,  do  not  tarry! 
And  I'll  give  thee  a  silver  pound 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry." 

"Now  who  be  ye  would  cross  Lochgyle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water?" 
"Oh  I'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle, 
And  this  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

"And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
Three  days  we've  fled  together, 
For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

"His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride, 
Should  they  our  steps  discover, 
Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride 
When  they  have  slain  her  lover?" 

Outspoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 
"I'll  go,  my  chief,  I'm  ready, 
It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright, 
•But  for  your  \vinsome  lady ; 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  89 

"And,  by  my  word,  the  bonny  bird 
In  danger  shall  not  tarry: 
So,  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 
I'll  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 
The  water-wraith  was  shrieking: 
And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wind, 
And  as  the  night  drew  drearer, 
Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

"Oh,  haste  thee,  haste !"  the  lady  cries, 
"Though  tempests  round  us  gather ; 
I'll  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 
But  not  an  angry  father." 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her, — 

When,  lo!  too  strong  for  human  hand, 

The  tempest  gathered  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  rowed  amidst  the  roar 
Of  water  fast  prevailing: 
Lord  Ullin  reached  that  fatal  shore ; 
His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 

For,  sore  dismayed,  through  storm  and  shade 
His  child  he  did  discover : 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretched  for  aid, 
And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

"Come  back !  Come  back !"  he  cried  in  grief 
Across  this  stormy  water, 
"And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief, 
My  daughter !   oh,  my  daughter !" 

'Twas  vain :  the  loud  waves  lashed  the  shore, 

Return  or  aid  preventing; 

The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child. 

And  he  was  left  lamenting.  —Campbell. 


90  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

THE   FORTUNATE   ISLES. 

You  sail,  and  you  seek  for  the  Fortunate  Isles, 
The  old  Greek  Isles  of  the  yellow  bird's  song? 
Then  steer  straight  on  through  the  watery  miles, 
Straight  on,  straight  on  and  you  can't  go  wrong. 
Nay  not  to  the  left,  nay  not  the  right, 
But  on,  straight  on,  and  the  Isles  are  in  sight, 
The   Fortunate   Isles  where  the  yellow  birds   sing, 
And  life  lies  girt  with  a  golden  ring. 

These  Fortunate  Isles,  they  are  not  so  far, 

They  lie  within  reach  of  the  lowliest  door ; 

You  can  see  them  gleam  by  the  twilight  star, 

You  can  hear  them  sing  by  the  moon's  white  shore — 

Nay,  never  look  back !     Those  leveled  grave  stones, 

They  were  landing  steps ;  they  were  steps  unto  thorns 

Of  glory  for  souls  that  have  sailed  before, 

And  have  set  white  feet  on  the  Fortunate  Shore. 

And  what  the  names  of  the  Fortunate  Isles? 
Why,  Duty  and  Love  and  a  large  content. 
Lo !  these  are  the  Isles  of  the  watery  miles, 
That  God  let  down  from  the  firmament. 
Lo !  Duty,  and  Love,  and  a  true  man's  trust ; 
Your  forehead  to  God  though  your  feet  in  the  dust ; 
Lo!  Duty,  and  Love,  and  a  sweet  babe's  smiles, 
And  these,  O  friend,  are  the  Fortunate  Isles. 
— Joaquin  Miller. 
(Permission   of  the   author,  Whitaker  &  Ray  Co.,   Publishers.) 


THE  BURIAL  OF   MOSES. 

By  Nebo's  lonely  mountain, 

On  this  side  Jordan's  wave, 
In  a  vale  in  the  land  of  Moab 

There  lies  a  lonely  grave. 
And  no  man  knows  that  sepulchre, 

And  no  man  saw  it  e'er, 
For  the  angels  of  God  upturned  the  sod 

And  laid  the  dead  man  there. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  91 

That  was  the  grandest  funeral 

That  ever  passed  on  earth ; 
But  no  man  heard  the  trampling, 

Or  saw  the  train  go  forth — 
Noiselessly  as  the  daylight 

Comes  back  when  night  is  done, 
And  the  crimson  streak  on  ocean's  cheek 

Grows  into  the  great  sun ; 

Noiselessly  as   the   spring-time 

Her  crown  of  verdure  weaves, 
And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  hills 

Open  their  thousand  leaves ; 
So  without  sound  of  music, 

Or  voice  of  them  that  wept, 
Silently   down   the   mountain's   crown 

The  great  procession  swept. 

Perchance  the  bald  old  eagle 

On  gray  Beth-peor's   height, 
Out  of  his  lonely  eyrie 

Looked  on  the  wondrous  sight ; 
Perchance  the  lion  stalking 

Still   shuns   that   hallowed   spot, 
For  beast  and  bird  have  seen  and  heard 

That  which  man  knoweth  not. 

But  when  the  warrior  dieth, 

.    His  comrades  in  the  war, 

With  arms  reversed  and  muffled  drum, 

Follow  his  funeral  car ; 
They  show  the  banners  taken, 

They  tell  his  battles  won, 
And  after  him  lead  his  masterless  steed, 

While  peals  the  minute  gun. 

Amid  the  noblest  of  the  land 

We  lay  the  sage  to  rest, 
And  give  the  bard  an  honored  place, 

With  costly  marble   drest, 
Jn  the  great  minster  transept 


92      PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Where  lights  like  glories  fall, 
And  the  organ  rings,  and  the  sweet  choir  sings 
Along  the  emblazoned  wall. 


This  was  the  truest  warrior 

That  ever  buckled  sword, 
This  the  most  gifted  poet 

That  ever  breathed  a  word ; 
And  never  earth's  philosopher 

Traced  with  his  golden  pen, 
On  the  deathless  page,  the  truths  so  sage 

As  he  wrote  down  for  men, 

And  had  he  not  high  honor, — 

The  hillside  for  a  pall, 
To  lie  in  state  while  angels  wait 

With  stars  for  tapers  tall, 
And  the  dark  rock-pines  like  tossing  plumes, 

Over  his  bier  to  wave, 
And  God's  own  hand,  in  that  lonely  land, 

To  lay  him  in  the  grave? 

In  that  strange  grave  without  a  name, 

Whence  his  uncoffined  clay 
Shall  break  again,  O  wondrous  thought ! 

Before  the  judgment  day, 
And  stand  with  glory  wrapt  around 

On  the  hills  he  never  trod, 
And  speak  of  the  strife  that  won  our  life 

With  the  Inca'rnate  Son  of  God. 

O  lonely  grave  in  Moab's  land ! 

O  dark  Beth-peor's  hill ! 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours, 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  His  mysteries  of  grace, 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell ; 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  hidden  sleep 

Of  him  He  loved  so  well. 

— Cefil  f' ranees  Alexander. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN      93 

A  SONG  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

Rhyme  on,  rhyme  on,  in  reedy  flow, 
O  river,  rhymer  ever  sweet  ! 
The  story  of  thy  land  is  meet; 
The  stars  stand  listening  to  know. 

Rhyme  on,  O  river  of  the  earth  ! 
Gray  father  of  the  dreadful  seas, 
Rhyme  on  !  the  world  upon  its  knees 
Invokes  thy  songs,  thy  wealth,  thy  worth. 

Rhyme  on  !  the  reed  is  at  thy  mouth, 

0  kingly  minstrel,  mighty  stream, 
Thy  Crescent  City,  like  a  dream, 
Hangs  in  the  heaven  of  my  South. 

Rhyme  on  !   rhyme  on  !  these  broken  strings 
Sing  sweetest  in  this  warm  south  wind  ; 

1  sit  thy  willow  banks  and  bind 
A  broken  harp  that  fitful  sings. 

—  Joaquin  Miller. 
(Permission  of  the   author,  Whitaker   &  Ray  Co.,    Publishers.) 


COLUMBUS. 

Behind  him  lay  the  gray  Azores, 

Behind  the  Gates  of  Hercules  ; 

Before  him  not  the  ghost  of  shores; 

Before  him  only  shoreless  seas. 

The  good  mate  said  :  "Now  must  we  pray, 

For  lo!  the  very  stars  are  gone. 

Brave  Adm'r'l,  speak;  what  shall  I  say?" 

"Why,  say:  'Sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!'" 

"My  men  grow  mutinous  day  by  day  ; 
My  men  grow  ghastly  wan  and  weak." 
The  stout  mate  thought  of  home  ;  a  spray 
Of  salt  wave  washed  his  swarthy  cheek. 
"What  shall  I  say,  brave  Adm'r'l,  say, 
If  we  sight  naught  but  seas  at  dawn?" 
"Why,  you  shall  say  at  break  of  day: 
'Sail  on  !  sail  on  !  sail  on  !  and  on  !'  " 


94  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

They  sailed  and  sailed,  as  winds  might  blow, 
Until  at  last  the  blanched  mate  said : 
"Why,  now  not  even  God  would  know 
Should  I  and  all  my  men  fall  dead. 
These  very  winds  forget  their  way, 
For  God  from  these  dread  seas  is  gone. 

Now  speak,  brave  AdmVl ;   speak  and  say " 

He  said :  "Sail  on  !  sail  on !  and  on !" 

They  sailed.     They  sailed.     Then  spake  the  mate: 

"This  mad  sea  shows  his  teeth  tonight. 

He  curls  his  lip,  he  lies  in  wait, 

With  lifted  teeth,  as  if  to  bite! 

Brave  AdmYl,  say  but  one  good  word: 

What  shall  we  do  when  hope  is  gone?" 

The  words  leapt  like  a  leaping  sword : 

"Sail  on !  sail  on !   sail  on !  and  on !" 

Then,  pale  and  worn,  he  kept  his  deck, 

And  peered  through  darkness.     Ah,  that  night 

Of  all  dark  nights !     And  then  a  speck — 

A  light !    A  light !    A  light !    A  light ! 

It  grew,  a  starlit  flag  unfurled! 

It  grew  to  be  Time's  burst  of  dawn. 

He  gained  a  world;  he  gave  that  world 

It's  grandest  lesson :   "On !  sail  on !" 

— Joaquin  Miller. 
(Permission    of   the   author,   Whitaker  &  Ray   Co.,   Publishers.)'; 

THE  PIED  PIPER  OF   HAMELIN. 
(Adapted  for   use   in    Lower  Grades.) 

In    Hamelin    Town   by   the   river   Weser   about   five   hundred: 
years  ago 

"Rats !" 
They  fought  the  dogs,  and  killed  the  cats, 

And  bit  the  babies  in  the  cradles, 
And  ate  the  cheeses  out  of  the  vats, 

And  licked  the  soup  from  the  cook's  own  ladles, 
Split  open  the  kegs  of  salted  sprats, 

Made  nests  inside  men's  Sunday  hats, 
And  even  spoiled  the  women's  chats 

By  drowning  their  speaking 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN      95 : 

With  shrieking  and  squeaking 
In  fifty  different  sharps  and  flats. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  rats  would  eat  everything,  when  a  piper 
came  to  town.     He  was  dressed  in  the  strangest  figure. 

His  queer  long  coat,  from  heel  to  head, 
Was  half  of  yellow  and  half  of  red. 
And  he  himself  was  tall  and  thin, 

With  sharp  blue  eyes,  each  like  a  pin, 
And  light,  loose  hair,  yet  swarthy  skin, 

No  tuft  on  cheek  nor  beard  on  chin, 
But  lips  where  smiles  went  out  and  in — 

There  was  no  guessing  his  kith  and  kin! 
And  nobody  could  enough  admire 

The  tall  man  and  his  quaint  attire : 
Quoth  one,  "It's  as  my  great-grand-sire, 

Starting  up  at  the  Trump  of  Doom's  tone, 
Had  walked  this  way  from  his  painted  tombstone !" 

Then  said  he  quietly: 

"As  for  what  your  brain  bewilders — 
If  I  can  rid  your  town  of  rats, 

Will  you  give  me  a  thousand  guilders?" 

The  money  was  promised. 

Into  the  street  the  piper  stept, 

Smiling  first  a  little  smile, 
As  if  he  knew  what  magic  slept 

In  his  quiet  pipe 'the  while; 
Then,  like  a  musical  adept, 
To  blow  the  pipe  his  lips  he  wrinkled, 

And  green  and  blue  his  sharp  eyes  twinkled, 
Like  a  candle-flame  where  salt  is  sprinkled ; 

And  ere  three  shrill  notes  the  pipe  had  uttered, 
You  heard  as  if  an  army  muttered; 

And  the  muttering  grew  to  a  grumbling; 
And  the  grumbling  grew  to  a  mighty  rumbling, 

And  out  of  the  houses  the  rats  came  tumbling. 
Great  rats,  small  rats,  lean  rats,  brawny  rats, 

Brown  rats,  black  rats,  gray  rats,  tawny  rats, 


96  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Grave  old  plodders,  gay  young  friskers, 

Fathers,   mothers,   uncles,   cousins, 
Cocking  tails  and  pricking  whiskers, 

Families  by  tens  and  dozens, 
Brothers,  sisters,  husbands,  wives — 

Followed  the  piper  for  their  lives. 
From  street  to  street  he  piped  advancing, 

And  step  by  step  they  followed  dancing, 
Until  they  came  to  the  river  Weser, 

Wherein  all  plunged  and  perished, 
Save  one,  who,  stout  as  Julius  Caesar, 

Swam  across  and  lived  to  carry 
(As  the  manuscript  he  cherished, 

To  Rat-land  home  his  commentary, 
Which  was,  'At  the  first  shrill  notes  of  the  pipe, 

I  heard  a  sound  as  of  scraping  tripe, 
And  putting  apples,  wondrous  ripe, 

Into  a  cider-press's  gripe : 
And  a  moving  ajar  of  conserve-cupboarcls, 

And  a  drawing  the  corks  of  train-oil  flasks, 
And  a  breaking  the  hoops  of  butter-casks ; 

And  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice 
Sweeter  far  than  by  harp  or  by  psaltery 

Is  breathed)   called  out,  O  rats,  rejoice! 
The  world  is  grown  to  one  vast  dry-saltery! 

So  munch  on,  crunch  on,  take  your  nuncheon, 
Breakfast,   supper,   dinner,  luncheon ! 

And  just  as  a  bulky  sugar-puncheon, 
All  ready  staved,  like  a  great  sun  shone 

Glorious  scarce  an  inch  before  me, 
Just  as  methought  it  said,  come,  bore  me, 

I  found  the  Weser  rolling  o'er  me.' " 
You  should  have  heard  the  Hamelin  people 

Ringing  the  bells  till  they  rocked  the  steeple; 
'Go,'  cried  the  Mayor,  'and  get  long  poles ! 

Poke  out  the  nests  and  block  up  the  holes ! 
Consult  with  carpenters  and  builders, 

And  leave  in  our  town  not  even  a  trace 
Of  the  rats !' — when  suddenly  up  the  face 

Of  the  Piper  perked  in  the  market-place, 
With  a,  'First,  if  you  please,  my  thousand  guilders !' 
'A  thousand  guilders!    Come  take  fifty!"  said  the 
Mayor  of  Hamelin." 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  97 

The  piper's  face  fell  and  he  cried, 

'No  trifling  !     I  can't  wait ;  beside 
I've  promised  to  visit  by  dinner-time 

Bagdad,  and  accept  the  prime 
Of  the  Head  Cook's  pottage,  all  he's  rich  in, 
For  having  left,  in  the  Caliph's  kitchen, 

Of  a  nest  of  scorpions  no  survivor — 
With  him  I  proved  no  bargain-driver. 

With  yon,  don't  think  I'll  bait  a  stiver !' 

'How!'  cried  the  Mayor;  'd'ye  think  I'll  brook 

Being  treated  worse  than  a  cook? 
You  threaten  us,  fellow?     Do  your  worst; 

Blow  your  pipe   until  you  burst !' " 
Once  more  the  piper  stept  into  the  street ; 

"And  to  his  lips  again 
Laid  his  long  pipe  of  smooth,  straight  cane ; 

And  ere  he  blew  three  notes  (such  sweet 
Soft  notes  as  yet  musician's  cunning 

Never  gave  the  enraptured  air) 
There  was  a  rustling,  that  seemed  like  a  bustling 

Of  merry  crowds  justling  at  pitching  and  hustling, 
Small  feet  were  pattering,  wooden  shoes  clattering, 

Little  hands  clapping,  and  little  tongues  chattering, 
And  like  fowls  in  a  farmyard  when  barley  is  scat- 
tering, 

Out  came  the  children  running. 
All  the  little  boys  and  girls, 

With  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  curls, 
And  sparkling  eyes  and  teeth  like  pearls, 

Tripping  and  skipping,  ran  merrily  after 
The  wonderful  music  with  shouting  and  laughter. 

The  Mayor  was  dumb  and  the  Council  s'tood 
As  if  they  were  changed  into  blocks  of  wood, 

Unable  to  move  a  step,  or  cry 
To  the  children  merrily  skipping  by, 

And  could  only  follow  with  the  eye 
That  joyous  crowd  at  the  Piper's  back. 
But  how  the  Mayor  was  on  the  rack, 
And  the  wretched  Council's  bosoms  beat, 

As  the  Piper  turned  from  the  High  Street 
To  where  the  Weser  rolled  its  waters 

Right  in  the  way  of  their  sons  and  daughters ! 


98*  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

However,  he  turned  from  south  to  west, 

And  to  Koppelberg  Hill  his  steps  addressed, 
And  after  him  the  children  pressed; 

Great  was  the  joy  in  every  breast. 
'He  never  can  cross  that  mighty  top ! 

He's  forced  to  let  the  piping  drop, 
And  we  shall  see  our  children  stop !' 
When,  lo!  as  they  reached  the  mountain's  side, 

A  wondrous  portal  opened  wide, 
As  if  a  cavern  was  suddenly  hollowed, 

And  the  Piper  advanced  and  the  children  followed, 
And  when  all  were  in  to  the  very  last, 

The  door  in  the  mountain-side  shut  fast. 
Did  I  say  all?     No!  one  was  lame, 

And  could  not  dance  the  whole  of  the  way, 
And  in  after  years,  if  you  would  blame 

His  sadness,  he  was  used  to  say, 
'It's  dull  in  our  town  since  my  playmates  left! 

I  can't  forget  that  I'm  bereft 
Of  all  the  pleasant  sights  they  see, 

Which  the  Piper  also  promised  me; 
For  he  led  us,  he  said,  to  a  joyous  land, 

Joining  the  town  and  just  at  hand, 
Where  waters  gushed  and  fruit  trees  grew, 

And  flowers  put  forth  a  fairer  hue, 
And  everything  was  strange  and  new ; 

The  sparrows  were  brighter  than  peacocks  here, 
And  their  dogs  outran  our  fallow  deer, 

And  honey-bees  had  lost  their  stings, 
And  horses  were  born  with  eagle's  wings : 

And  just  as  I  became  assured 
My  lame  foot  would  be  speedily  cured, 

The  music  stopped,  and  I  stood  still, 
And  found  myself  outside  the  Hill, 

Left  alone  against  my  will, 
To  go  now  limping  as  before, 

And  never  hear  of  that  country  more !' " 

"The  Mayor  sent  east,  west,  north  and  south, 
To  offer  the  Piper  by  word  of  mouth, 

Wherever  it  was  men's  lot  to  find  him, 
Silver  and  gold  to  his  heart's  content, 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  99 

If  he'd  only  return  the  way  he  went, 

And  bring  the  children  behind  him." 
But  the  children  were  lost  forever, 
And  all  because  the  fat  old  Mayor  tried  to  cheat 

the  Piper. 
"So,   (Children),  let  you  and  me  be  wipers 

Of   scores   out  with  all   men  —  especially  pipers  ; 
And,  whether  they  pipe  us  free,  from  rats  or  from 

mice, 

If  we've  promised  them  aught,  let  us  keep  our 
promise." 

—  Robert  Browning. 
(With  the  permission  of  Houghtoir,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Publishers.) 


RHYME    OF   THE    RAIL. 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale,  — 
Bless  me  !   this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail  ! 

Men  of  different  'stations' 

In  the  eye  of  Fame 
Here  are  very  quickly 

Coming  to  the  same. 
High  and  iowly  people, 

Birds   of   every   feather, 
On  a  common  level, 

Traveling  together  ! 

Gentleman  in  shorts, 

Looming  very  tall  ; 
Gentleman  at  large, 

Talking  very   small  ; 
Gentleman  in  tights, 

With  a  loose-ish  mien  ; 
Gentleman  in  gray, 

Looking  rather  green. 


100  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

Stranger  on  the  left, 

Closing  up  his  peepers  ; 
Now  he  snores  amain, 

Like  the  Seven  Sleepers  ; 
At  his  feet  a  volume 

Gives   the   explanation, 
How  the  man  grew  stupid 

From   'Association'  ! 

Market-woman  careful 

Of  the  precious  casket, 
Knowing  eggs  are  eggs, 

Tightly  holds  her  basket; 
Feeling  that  a  smash, 

If  it  came,  would  surely 
Send  her  eggs  to  pot 

Rather  prematurely  ! 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through   the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale  ; 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail  ! 

—  John  G.  Saxe. 


19TH    PSALM. 

The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God  ;  and  the  firmament 
sheweth  his  handywork. 

Day  unto  day  uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto  night  sheweth 
knowledge. 

There  is  no  speech  nor  language',  where  their  voice  is  not 
heard. 

Their  line  is  gone  out  through  all  the  earth,  and  their  words 
to  the  end  of  the  world.  In  them  hath  he  set  a  tabernacle  for 
the  sun. 

His  going  forth  is  from  the  end  of  the  heaven,  and  his  cir- 
cuit unto  the  ends  of  it  :  and  there  is  nothing  hid  from  the  heat 
thereof. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  101 

The  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  converting  the  soul :  the  tes- 
timony of  the  Lord  is  sure,  making  wise  the  simple. 

The  statutes  of  the  Lord  are  right,  rejoicing  the  heart:  the 
commandment  of  the  Lord  is  pure,  enlightening  the  eyes. 

The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  clean,  enduring  for  ever:  the  judg- 
ments of  the  Lord  are  true  and  righteous  altogether. 

More  to  be  desired  are  they  than  gold,  yea,  than  much  fine 
gold :  sweeter  also  than  honey  and  the  honeycomb. 

Moreover  by  them  is  thy  servant  warned :  and  in  keeping  oi 
them  there  is  great  reward.  , 

Who  can  understand  his  errors?  Cleanse  thou  me  from  se- 
cret faults. 

Keep  back  thy  servant  also  from  presumptuous  sins ;  let 
them  not  have  dominion  over  me :  then  shall  I  be  upright,  and 
I  shall  be  innocent  from  the  great  transgression. 

Let  the  words  of  my  mouth,  and  the  meditation  of  my  heart, 
be  acceptable  in  thy  sight,  O  Lord,  my  strength,  and  my  re- 
deemer. 


THE   WATER   DROPS. 

Some  little  drops  of  water, 

Whose  home  was  in  the  sea, 
To   go  upon  a  journey, 

Once  happened  to  agree. 

A  cloud  they  had  for  a  carriage, 

They  drove  a  playful  breeze,  , 

And  over  town  and  country, 
They   rode   along  at   ease. 

But  Oh !  they  were  so  many,       , 

At  last  the  carriage  broke, 
And  to  the  ground  came  tumbling, 

These    frightened    little    folk. 

And  through  the  moss  and  grasses 

They  were  compelled  to  roam, 
Until  a  brooklet  found  them, 

And  carried  them  all  home. 

— Author  not  known* 


102  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

THE    GOUTY    MERCHANT    AND   THE    STRANGER. 

In  Broadstreet  building,  on  a  winter  night, 

Snug  by  his  parlor-fire,  a  gouty  wight 

Sat  all  alone,  with  one  hand  rubbing 

His  feet,  rolled  up  in  fleecy  hose, 

With  t'other  he'd  beneath  his  nose 

The  Public  Ledger,  in  whose  columns  grubbing, 

He  noted  all  the  sales  of  hops, 

Ships,  shops,  and  slops ; 
Gums,  galls,  and  groceries ;  ginger,  gin. 
Tar,  tallow,  turmeric,  turpentine,  and  tin ; 
When  lo !  a  decent  personage  in  black, 
Entered  and  most  politely  said : 

"Your  footman,  sir,  has  gone  his  nightly  track 

To  the  King's  Head, 
And  left  your  door  ajar,  which   I 
Observed  in  passing  by; 

And  thought  it  neighborly  to  give  you  notice." 

"Ten  thousand  thanks ;  how  very  few  do  ger, 
In  time  of  danger, 

Such  kind  attentions  from  a  stranger ! 
Assuredly,  that  fellow's  throat  is 
Doomed  to  a  final  drop  at  Newgate : 
He -knows,  too   (the  unconscionable  elf), 
That  there's  no  soul  at  home  except  myself." 

"Indeed,"   replied  the   stranger,  looking  grave, 

"Then  he's  ax  double  knave  ;  , 

He  knows  that  rogues  and  thieves  by  scores 
Nightly  beset   unguarded  doors. 
And  see,  how  easily  might  one1 
.Of  these   domestic  foes, 

Even  beneath  your  very  nose. 
Perform  his  knavish  tricks ; 
Enter  your  room,  as  I  have  done, 
Blow    out   your   candles — thus — and — thus — , 
Pocket  your  silver  candlesticks, 
And — walk  off— thus/' 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  103 

So  said,  so  done  ;  he  made  no  more  remark, 

Nor  waited  for  replies, 

But  marched  off  with  his  prize, 
Leaving  the  gouty  merchant  in  the  dark. 

—  By  row. 


THE    DEPARTED. 

The  departed  !   the  departed  ! 

They  visit  us  in  dreams, 
And  they  glide  above  our  memories 

Like  shadows  over  streams  ; 
But  where  the  cheerful  lights  of  home 

In  constant  luster  burn, 
The  departed,  the  departed, 

Can  never  more  return  ! 

The  good,  the  brave,  the  beautiful, 

How  dreamless  is  their  sleep, 
Where  rolls  the  dirge-like  music 

Of  the  ever-tossing  deep  ! 
Or  where  the  surging  night-winds 

Pale  winter's  robes  have  spread 
Above  the  narrow  palaces, 

In  the  cities  of  the  dead  ! 

I  look  around,  and  feel  the  awe 

Of  one  who  walks  alone, 
Among  the  wrecks  of  former  days, 

In  mournful  ruin  strown  ; 
I  start  to  hear  the  stirring  sounds 

Among  the  cypress-trees, 
For  the  voice  of  the  departed 

Is  borne  upon  the  breeze. 

That  solemn  voice  !  it  mingles  with 

Each  free  and  careless  strain  ; 
I  scarce  can  think  earth's  minstrelry 

Will  cheer  my  heart  again. 
The  melody  of  summer  waves, 

The  trilling  notes  of  birds, 
Can  never  be  so  dear  to  me, 

As  their  remembered  words; 


104  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

I  sometimes  dream  their  pleasant  smiles 

Still  on  me  sweetly  fall, 
Their  tones  of  love  I  faintly  hear 

My  name  in  sadness  call. 
I  know  that  they  are  happy, 

With  their  angel-plumage  on, 
But  my  heart  is  very  desolate, 

To  think  that  they  are  gone. 

— Park  Benjamin. 

STANZAS  FROM  "THE  FOURTH   IN  OREGON." 

The  grass  is  green  on  Bunker  Hill, 
The  waters  sweet  in  Brandywinc ; 

The  sword  sleeps  in  the  scabbard  still, 
The  farmer  keeps  his  flock  and  vine ; 

Then  who  would  mar  the  scene  today 

With  vaunt  of  battle-field  or  fray? 

Aye,  wise  and  great  was  Washington, 
And  brave  the  men  of  Bunker  Hill ; 
Most  brave  and  worthy  every  one, 
Tn  work  and  faith  and  fearless  will 
And  brave  endeavor  for  the  right, 
Until  yon  stars  burst  through  their  night. 

Aye,  wise  and  good  was  Washington. 
Yet  when  he  laid  his  sword  aside, 
The  bravest  deed  yet  done  was  done. 
And  when  in  stately  strength  and  pride 
He  took  the  plow  and  turned  the  mold 
He  wrote  God's  autograph  in  gold. 

He  wrought  the  fabled  fleece  of  gold 
In  priceless  victories  of  peace, 
With  plowshare  set  in  mother  mold ; 
Then  gathering  the  golden  fleece 
About  his  manly,  martial  breast, 
This  farmer  laid  him  down  to  rest. 

—Miller. 

(Permission   of  the   author,   Whitaker  £  Ray-Wiggin   Co., 
Publishers.) 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  105 

THE   DAFFODILS. 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 
That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 
A  host  of  golden  daffodils, 

Beside  the  lake,  beside  the  trees, 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 

And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way, 
They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 

Along  the  margin  of  a  bay; 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced,  but  they 
Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee  ;  — 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay, 
In  such  a  jocund  company; 

I  gazed,  and  gazed,  but  little  thought  , 

What  wealth  that  show  to  me  had  brought. 

For  oft  when  on  my  couch  I  lie, 

In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 

Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

—  Wordsworth. 


CALIFORNIA   POPPY. 

The  golden  poppy  is  God's  gold, 

The  gold  that  lifts,  nor  weighs  us  down, 
The  gold  that  knows  no  miser's  hold, 

The  gold  that  banks  not  in  the  town, 
But  singing,  laughing,  freely  spills 
Its  hoard  far  up  the  happy  hills  ; 
Far  up,  far  down,  at  every  turn,  — 
What  beggar  has  not  gold  to  burn  ! 

—  Miller. 

(Permission  of  the  author,  Whitaker  &  Ray-Wiggin  Co., 
Publishers.) 


106  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

IS   IT   WORTH    WHILE? 

Is  it  worth  while  that  we  jostle  a  brother 
Bearing  his  load  on  the  rough  road  of  life? 

Is  it  worth  while  that  we  jeer  at  each  other 
In  blackness  of  heart? — that  we  war  to  the  knife? 
God  pity  us  all  in  our  pitiful  strife. 

God  pity  us  all  as  we  jostle  each  other; 
God  pity  us  all  for  the  triumphs  we  feel 

When  a  fellow  goes  down ;  poor,  heart-broken  brother, 
Pierced  to  the  heart ;  words  are  keener  than  steel, 
And  mightier  far  for  woe  or  for  weal. 

Were  it  not  well  in  this  brief  little  journey, 
On  over  the  isthmus,  down  into  the  tide, 

That  we  give  him  a  fish  instead  of  a  serpent, 
Ere  folding  the  hands  to  be  and  abide 
For  ever  and  aye  in  dust  at  his  side? 

Look  at  the  roses  saluting  each  other ; 

Look  at  the  herds  all  at  peace  on  the  plain- 
Man,  and  man  only,  makes  war  on  his  brother, 
And  dotes  in  his  heart  on  his  peril  and  pain — 
Shamed  by  the  brutes  that  go  down  on  the  plain. 


Why  should  we  envy  a  moment  of  pleasure 

Some  poor  fellow-mortal  has  wrung  from  it  all? 

Oh !  could  you  look  into  life's  broken  measure — 
Look  at  the  dregs — at  the  wormwood  and  gall — 
Look  at  his  heart  hung  with  crape  like  a  pall — 

Look  at  the  skeletons  down  by  his  hearthstone — 
Look  at  his  cares  in  their  rherciless  sway, — 

I  know  you  would  go  and  say  tenderly,  lowly, 
Brother, — my  brother,  for  aye  and  a  day, — 
Lo!  Lethe  is  washing  the  blackness  away. 

—Miller. 

(Permission  of  the  author,  Whitaker  &  Ray-Wiggin  Co., 
Publishers,) 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  107 

THE     WORLD'S     WANDERERS. 

Tell  me,  thou  star,  whose  wings  of  light 
Speed  thee  in  thy  fiery  flight, 
In  what  cavern  of  the  night 
Will  thy  pinions  close  now? 

Tell  me,  moon,  thou  pale  and  gray 
Pilgrim  of  heaven's   homeless  way, 
In  what  depth  of  night  or  day 
Seekest  thou  repose  now  ? 

Weary  wind,  who  wanderest 
Like  the  world's  rejected  guest, 
Hast  thou  still  some  secret  nest 
On  the  tree  or  billow? 

—Shelley. 

LINCOLN'S  GETTYSBURG   SPEECH. 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought  forth 
upon  this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty,  and  ded- 
icated to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal. 

Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether 
that  nation,  or  any  nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated,  can 
long  endure.  We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that  war. 
We  are  met  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  it  as  the  final  resting-place 
of  those  who  here  gave  their  lives  that  that  nation  might  live. 
It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do  this. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense,  we  cannot  dedicate — we  cannot  con- 
secrate— we  cannot  hallow  this  ground.  The  brave  men,  living 
and  dead,  who  struggled  here,  have  consecrated  it  far  above 
our  power  to  add  or  detract.  The  world  will  little  note,  nor 
long  remember  what  we  say  here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what 
they  did  here.  It  is  for  us,  the  living,  rather  to  be  dedicated 
here  to  the  unfinished  work  that  they  have  thus  far  so  nobly 
carried  on.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the  great 
task  remaining  before  us,  that  from  these  honored  dead  we 
take  increased  devotion  to  the  cause  for  which  they  here  gave 
the  last  full  measure  of  devotion,  that  we  here  highly  resolve 
that  the  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain ;  that  the  nation  shall, 
under  God,  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom ;  and  that  government 
of  the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the  people  shall  not  perish 
from  the  earthj 


108  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

THE    PRIMROSE    OF   THE    ROCK. 

The  flowers,  still  faithful  to  the  stems, 

Their  fellowship  renew ; 
The  stems  are  faithful  to  the  root, 

That  worketh  out  of  view ; 
And  to  the  rock  the  root  adheres, 

In  every  fibre  true. 

Close  clings  to  earth  the  living  rock, 

Though  threatening  still  to  fall ; 
The  earth  is  constant  to  her  sphere, 

And  God  upholds  them  all ; 
So  blooms  this  lonely  plant,   nor  dreads 

Her  annual  funeral.  — Wordsworth. 

SONG   OF   THE   OUT   O'    DOORS. 

Come  with  me,   O  you  world-weary,  to  the  haunts    of    thrush 

and  veery, 

To  the  cedar's  dim  cathedral  and  the  palace  of  the  pine; 
Let   the    soul    within   you    capture    something   of   the    wildwood 

rapture, 

Something  of  the  epic  passion  of  that  harmony  divine ! 
Down  the  pathway  let  us   follow  through  the  hemlocks  to  the 

hollow, 
To  the  woven,   vine-wound  thickets   in   the  twilight  vague  and 

old, 

While  the  streamlet  winding  after  is  a  trail  of  silver  laughter, 
And  the  boughs  above  hint  softly  of  the  melodies  they  hold. 
Through   the    forest,   never   caring   what   the   way   our   feet   are 

faring, 

We  shall  hear  the  wild  birds'  revel  in  the  labyrinth  of  Tune, 
And  on  mossy  carpets  tarry  in  His  temples  cool  and  airy, 
Hung  with  silence  and  the  splendid,  amber  tapestry  of  noon. 
Leave  the  hard  heart  of  the  city,  with  its  poverty  of  pity, 
Leave  the  folly  and  the  fashion  wearing  out  the  faith  of  men, 
Breathe   the   breath   of   life   blown   over   upland   meadows   white 

with  clover, 
And  with  childhood's  clearer  vision  see  the  face  of  God  again  ! 

— Herbert  Bashford. 

(From    "At   the    Shrine    of    Song."      Copyright   by   Whitaker   & 
Ray-Wiggin  Co.     Permission  of  author.) 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN     109 

THE  DEATH  BED. 

We  watched  her  breathing  through  the  night, 

Her  breathing,  soft  and  low, 
As  in  her  breast  the  wave  of  life 
Kept  heaving  to  and  fro. 

So  silently  we  seemed  to  speak, 

So  slowly  moved  about, 
As  we  had  lent  her  half  our  powers 

To  eke  her  living  out. 

Our  very  hopes  belied  our  fears, 

Our  fears  our  hopes  belied ; 
We  thought  her  dying  when  she  slept, 

And  sleeping  when  she  died. 

For  when  the  morn  came  dim  and  sad, 

And  chill  with  early  showers, 
Her  quiet  eyelids  closed; — she  had 

Another  morn  than  ours. 

,  — Hood. 

Books !  'tis  a  dull  and  endless  strife, 
Come !  hear  the  woodland  linnet, 
How  sweet  its  music  on  my  life, 
There  is  more  than  music  in  it. 

And  hark,  how  blithe  the  throstle  sings, 
He  too  is  no  mean  creature ; 
Come  forth  into  the  heart  of  things, 
Let  nature  be  your  teacher. 

One  impulse  from  a  vernal  mood. 
Will  teach  jrou  more  of  man, 
Of  moral  evil  and  of  good, 
Than  all  the  sages  can. 

Enough  of  science  and  of  art, 

Close  up  those  barren  leaves, 

Come  forth  and  bring  with  you  a  heart, 

And  listen !  and  receive. 

— Wordsworth. 


110  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

A    MAN'S  A    MAN    FOR   A'  THAT. 

Is  there   for  honest  poverty 
Thai   hings  his  head,  an'  a'  that; 
The  coward  slave — we  pass  him  by, 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 
Our  toils  obscure  an'  a'  that, 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
The  Man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

What  though  on  homely  fare  we  dine, 

Wear  hoddin  grey,  an'  a'  that ; 

Gie  fools  their  silk  an'  knaves  their  wine, 

A  Man's  a  Man  for  a'  that ; 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

Their  tinsel,  show,  an'  a'  that,     , 

The  honest  man,  tho'  e'er  sae  poor, 

Is  king  o'  men  for  a  'that. 

Ye  see  yon  birkie  ca'd  'a  lord,' 
Wha  struts  an'  stares,  an'  a'  that; 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 
He's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that : 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
His  ribband,  star,  an'  a'  that ; 
The  man  o'  independent  mind, 
He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  make  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  an'  a'  that ; 

But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might, 

Gude  faith,  he  mauna  fa'  that ! 

For  a'  that,  and'  a'  that, 

Their  dignities  an'  a'  that ; 

The  pith  o'  sense  an'  pride  o'  worth 

Are  higher  rank  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may 

(As  come  it  will  for  a'  that) 

That  Sense  and  Worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth 

Shall  bear  the  gree,  an'  a'  that. 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

It's  coming  yet  for  a'  that, 

That  Man  to  Man,  the  world  o'er, 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that.  —Mums. 


PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN  111 

SONNETS 


THIRTIETH   SONNET. 

When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 

I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past, 

I  sigh  the  lack  of  many  a  thing  I  sought, 

And  with  old  woes  new  wail  my  dear  time's  waste : 

Then  can  I  drown  an  eye,  unused  to  flow, 

For  precious  friends  hid  in  death's  dateless  niglit, 

And  weep  afresh  love's  long  since  cancell'd  woe, 

And  moan  the  expense  of  many  a  vanished  sight : 

Then  can  I  grieve  at  grievances  foregone, 

And  heavily  from  woe  to  woe  tell  o'er 

The  sad  account  of  fore-bemoaned  moan, 

Which  I  new  pay  as  if  not  paid  before. 

But  if  the  while  I  think  on  thee,  dear  friend, 
All  losses  are  restored  and  sorrows  end. 

Shakespeare. 


EARTH'S   LIVING   WORD. 

O  Earth !  thou  hast  not  any  wind  that  blows 

Which  is  not  music ;  every  weed  of  thine, 

Pressed  rightly,  flows  in  aromatic  wine ; 
And  every  humble  hedge-row  flower  that  grows, 
And  every  little  brown  bird  that  doth  sing, 

Hath  something  greater  than  itself,  and  bears 
A  living  word  to  every  living  thing, 

Albeit  it  hold  the  message  unawares. 
All  shapes  and  sounds  have  something  which  is  not 

Of  them ;  a  spirit  broods  amid  the  grass ; 
Vague  outlines  of  the  everlasting  thought 

Lie  in  the  melting  shadows  as  they  pass ; 

The  touch  of  an  eternal  presence  thrills 
The  fringes  of  the  sunsets  and  the  hills. 

—Realf. 


112  PROSE  AND  POETRY  FOR  CHILDREN 

ON    FIRST    LOOKING    INTO   CHAPMAN'S    HOMER. 

•Much    have  I  travel'd  in  the  realms  of  gold, 

And  many  goodly  states  and  kingdoms  seen ; 

Round  many  western  islands  have  I  been 
Which  bards  in  fealty  to  Apollo  hold. 
Oft  of  one  wide  expanse  had  I  been  told 

That  deep-brow'd  Homer  ruled  as  his  demesne; 

Yet  did  I  never  breathe  its  pure  serene 
Till  I  heard  Chapman  speak  out  loud  and  bold  : 
Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 

When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken  ; 
Or  like  stout  Cortez  when  with  eagle  eyes 

He  star'd  at  the  Pacific — and  all  his  men 
Look'd  at  each  other  with  a  wild  surmise — 

Silent,  upon  a  peak  in  Darien. 


ON    HIS    BLINDNESS. 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  days  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide, 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  He  returning  chide, 
'Doth  God  exact  day  labor,  light  denied?' 
I  fondly  ask.     But  Patience  to  prevent 

That  murmur  soon  replies,  'God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts.     Who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best.     His  state 

Is  kingly:  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest ; 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait/ 

-— Milton. 


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